


Roles Reversed

by getthelubebitch



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Cigarettes, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecure Mickey, Insomnia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mexico, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Parents Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Protective Ian Gallagher, Riding, Sad Mickey, Sick Mickey, Therapy, Top Ian Gallagher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2018-10-30 21:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 82,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10885350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getthelubebitch/pseuds/getthelubebitch
Summary: “I’ve dealt with anxiety since I was a kid,” he started and relaxed back into the couch, “just easier to cover it up back in the day, I guess.”Mickey has everything he always wanted now; a house, a good job, freedom, and Ian. But everything he's gone through in the past has finally caught up with him and has changed him into an introverted, anxious, scared, weak man. He never sleeps out of fear that the police will find him and catch him off guard. He receives a letter from Svetlana and Yevgeny, asking him for help. Things are piling up and Ian is typically his escape, but these problems might be a little too much for one person to fix.





	1. Chapter 1

“You got everything?” 

Mickey rested one arm behind his head, the other balancing his laptop on a bent knee. Every window of his house was open even if it was still technically winter, but in Mexico that didn’t matter. The ocean air was ruffling his hair and tickling his skin, leaving goosebumps and a sea salt mist as it surrounded his body.

“I think so,” Mickey watched Ian moving around on the screen. Ian’s computer was sat on his bed, tilted down to show himself on the floor, packing two suitcases and his backpack. “I got shorts, sweats, t-shirts, jeans, underwear, one sweatshirt that will never be worn, swim trunks, sandals, and the speedo I haven’t worn since I was fifteen. It’s not gonna fit, I don’t know why you want me to bring it.” 

Mickey laughed a little, shaking his computer, “It’ll fit. Trust me, I’ll make it fit if I have to.” He yawned and covered his mouth with a fist, trying not to show just how exhausted he was. Working twelve hour shifts mixed with being forced to sleeping alone was not a good combination for him. In some ways he felt as though he was still in prison.

“Just gotta get my toothbrush and meds but I’ll pack those in the morning. Got my clothes for tomorrow out and ready… I don’t know, you tell me. Am I missing anything?” Ian put the final pair of shorts into one of the already stuffed suitcases.

Mickey stayed quiet for a second, going over the list in his blurred mind, eyes struggling to stay open, “Passport?” 

“SHIT, yeah, hold on.” He waited as Ian stood up and rummaged through his desk drawer, pulling it all the way open to reach in the back under loose papers and uncapped pens, “Got it, thank you.” 

“Why was it hidden? Didn’t you tell everyone you’re leaving?” Mickey was on the verge of slurring his words at this point, so desperate to sleep even though he knew it wasn’t gonna be on his own list of things to do tonight.

“Told ‘em I’m going to California, don’t need a passport to get there.” Ian put the little navy blue book in a secluded zipper then paused and looked at Mickey through the lens, still able to find his eyes even if they were thousands of miles away. Almost as if they were in the same room. “Are you okay? You look kinda down.”

All of Mickey’s attempts to mask his fatigue weren’t working even after giving this act his best effort, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long day,” he knew Ian wasn’t buying it. 

“You’ve been having a lot of those lately, you sure it’s not something else?” Mickey shook his head and Ian continued, “Having second thoughts about me coming?”

Mickey creased his brows so far together they were virtually glued together, “The fuck are you talking about? I’m the one who booked your flight, man. I’ve wanted you here for months, you know that.”

“I know,” Mickey noticed his face soften as Ian’s did the same, “I’m just coming in and entering a life you’ve built, I don’t wanna disrupt anything.”

“You know I’ve never had a problem with you coming anywhere,” both smiled in unison and Ian shook his head at the awful pun, “Especially not into my life. I promise I want you here, I’m just tired.”

He began blinking more often, even if they were slowing down at the same time. He felt like there were rocks or pebbles on his eyelids, weighing them down, “I gotta go though, gotta pick your ass up at the crack of dawn.”

Ian smirked and tilted his head, “My flight gets in at noon.”

“Yeah, I have to get up at ten on my fuckin’ day off,” he said quickly back, no heat applied at all, a smile spread across his face. “I’ll be there though. Not gonna leave you stranded all alone in Mexico.”

“Alright, alright,” Ian waved his hand at the camera, silently begging him to stop bringing up the past, “get some sleep, I’ll text when I leave here, keep you updated.” Mickey nodded and breathed in heavily.

“Okay. See you tomorrow,” Mickey put his hand on top of his screen, getting ready to shut it, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Please sleep.”

“I will.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Both of them closed their computers simultaneously, Ian packing his into a suitcase along with it’s charger, Mickey standing it on it’s side and leaning it against his bed on the floor.

There he lay for the hundredth time, in silence, with only the sounds of wind and the waves pushing in and pulling away from the shore filling his ears. He knew he lied about sleeping, Ian new he lied about sleeping, they both just tried to ignore it like it was only a phase. His body will eventually give out and he’ll involuntarily fall into a deep sleep, although tonight just wasn’t that night.

He dragged himself up and out of bed and started walking aimlessly around the house. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, drank one, filled the glass up again and gave the tiny potted plant on his windowsill the nourishment it was dying for. He made his way to the sliding glass back door, checking the locks again, then the front door. Shut and locked all the windows in living room, guest room, bathroom, and his own bedroom. Rubbing both hands over his face in pure irritation with himself and how much weaker he was now. He was afraid of anything and everything. 

The isolation he’s been living in for a little over a year, even days before he went to prison when Ian ran off with Monica, has taken a toll on him and his anxiety. He’s dealt with it since he was young, constantly living in fear of his father. Worrying not only for his own safety, but Mandy’s and his mom’s as well. His older brothers never really got any of Terry’s wrath since they were bigger and stronger and, more specifically, weren’t Mickey’s mom’s kids. 

A blended family split in two. Three living unbruised and pretty, three walking on a constant sea of eggshells.

Little Mickey learned from a beating he received when he was five for something an extremely drunk Terry himself had done, spilling beer on the carpet, that he was always wrong and his dad was always right, no matter what. 

That fear of always being blamed, always being hurt, made him hide himself from everyone possible. He’d confront people when he had to, always put on a confident façade, but when he went back home and was in his room, all his mind would do was spin. Overthinking the littlest things, anything he had done that day that might’ve been wrong or even taken wrongly. That’s why when he and Ian started… hanging out, he saw their situation as an escape. And escape from his life and his mind.

Ian eased the anxiety without even trying. He always put Mickey at ease with just his presence. They didn’t have to do anything, they could just sit in silence but his mind would always become calmer. The brain-tornado would temporarily stop whirling and he could relax. But when that human form of a Xanax was gone, the tornado picked up again and wouldn’t stop until he could get his next fix.

He sat down on his couch and felt around on the coffee table for the T.V remote in the darkness, only seeing slits of his surrounds that were lit by the moon coming through the blinds. He turned on the Food Network and watched an episode of Chopped, the machine still on mute. 

He was so tired. So, so tired, in every way shape or form. Mentally, physically, emotionally, you name it; that part of him was tired. But that god damn tornado wouldn’t stop. Hadn’t stopped since he was left at the border and even then he only got about three days of relief. Before that, it had been months without a taste of calmness. Day in and day out, hoping and praying to whatever God there is that that would be the day his name would be called by the guards telling him he had a visitor and he could finally see his love again, but that day only came twice. One to tell him they couldn’t afford a lawyer so he would be stuck with a piece of shit public defender, and another to tell him he had to be bribed with money to come see him. Two visits, both only filled with bad news, in eight months. 

He didn’t even realize he had been numbly watching infomercials for at least four or five hours until the sun started shining through the blinds, illuminating the living room with the typical early morning golden glow, with slight shades of pink mixing in. He shook himself out of his haze and brought himself back into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, the only thing keeping his eyes open these days. 

He not only couldn’t sleep, he was scared to. Every single time he shut his eyes for more than a blink, he heard an intense banging in his head and was shot awake, chest heaving, genuinely convinced the police were outside, guns loaded and ready to take him back to prison for who knows how long. He escaped from all of his anxiety inducing living situations but was only met with another set of things to irrationally worry about. And he hated himself for it.

Coffee was done, he poured himself and cup and raised the blinds that covered all the windows. He slid open his back door and stepped out onto his deck, down a few stairs, and sunk his feet into the sand. This was his dream. He had it all but it wasn’t enough to override the nerves. He had a good job that paid well with people who knew nothing about him, only that he was fucking fantastic at fixing cars and satisfying customers. His house was owned by his boss who took the rent and utilities costs out of his check every month. The beach was his literal backyard and the love of his life was finally coming to be with him. Everything was fine, so why was he still unable to calm himself the hell down. The sky was a blend of magenta and orange, clouds hovering above him. He took deep breaths between sips of his liquid form of sleep while taking everything in. In a few hours he’d be holding Ian again, smelling Ian again, kissing Ian again. He would finally get his fix. 

He heard his phone buzz a couple times on the kitchen counter and stepped back inside, rubbing his sand-covered feet on the rug right inside the door.

\- 7:34am: just got to the airport. sitting at the gate  
\- 7:34am: hope you got some rest :(  
\- 7:34am: love you so much, see you soon

He wanted to wait a few hours to reply and somehow fool Ian into thinking he slept at all, even for an hour or two. He knew that was pointless though because as soon as Ian saw him in person, saw how sluggishly he carried himself along with the dark circles and hooded eyes, he would know he hadn’t slept in days. 

He saw the grey typing bubble pop up on his screen before he could even type anything out.

\- 7:36am: you have your read receipts on, silly  
\- 7:36am: good morning 

He wrote out a quick, truthful response and sent it without hesitation. 

• 7:27am: morning, couldn’t sleep. too excited  
\- 7:28am: you sound so thrilled. are you gonna be able to drive?  
• 7:28am: i am, dickwad. i’ll be fine  
\- 7:29am: flight’s boarding  
• 7:30am: ok. fly safe, love you  
\- 7:30am: love you too. maybe nap before you have to pick me up?  
• 7:30am: gotta shower. see you soon  
\- 7:31am: can’t stay awake forever, mick

Like he didn’t already know that. He locked his phone and put his empty coffee cup in the dishwasher. He headed to the fridge and took out some eggs, strawberries, pineapple, and some mango. 

He began making the eggs and slicing the fruit like he did every morning, getting a second mug from the cupboard and pouring himself another serving of the bitter, black drink while he waited for the pan to heat up. He scrambled them with a little added water and poured the yellow mixture into the pan, hearing it sizzle from the cold on hot contact. He sipped from the mug as he watched the eggs start to solidify when his phone buzzed again.

\- 7:50am: got the whole row to myself. wish you were here to keep me company  
• 7:50am: i spent a year without you i think you can handle 4 hours  
\- 7:51am: never gonna live that down am i?  
\- 7:51am: taking off. love youuuu  
• 7:52am: love you more

He took his time eating, savoring the sweetness of the fruit, hoping the sugar would give him some extra energy today. After cleaning his plate and finishing off the coffee, he figured it was time to shower. 

He undressed and turned the cold knob to the left, stepping in and wincing at the ice water covering his skin. He stood still and let the numbness and sleepiness get washed away. A few minutes passed and he grabbed the shampoo, lathering his hair up and letting the extra suds fall down his body. He forced himself to keep his eyes open even though the bubbles were beginning to burn them, otherwise the banging would begin again. 

He washed the shampoo out, washed everything else off his body and turn the knob back to the right to shut the water off. He didn’t know how long he had spent in there, he didn’t really care, to be honest, but he knew it was longer than necessary. He zones out when he’s not distracted by something like… Ian. If he’s watching T.V, showering, even working on cars, he’ll just stare into space until something makes him snap out of it. This time it was the banging. He closed his eyes for only a few seconds. 

He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked back to his phone, not knowing what to expect considering Ian was thousands of feet in the air with no way of communicating. The thought of that made his anxiety rise too. Ian was in another situation where Mickey couldn’t help if he got hurt or if something went wrong. 

It was almost nine now, he needed to leave by ten. He went into his closet and grabbed some tan shorts and a green and orange floral Hawaiian shirt like the one he found years ago in a suitcase. He loved looking like a dad, it made him feel like maybe one day he could be with Yev again and be an actual dad. Until then, this godawful button up would have to do. 

He went back into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, sprayed some cologne and put on deodorant. He scooped a dollop of gel out of the pot and fixed his hair, taking his sweet time to make the upward swoop perfect. 

He decided it was better to be early than stuck in traffic so he grabbed his wallet and keys, checked every lock on every door and window, and headed out to his car, locking the front door behind him.

His boss let him borrow a loaner car from the shop when he first got there and it was only supposed to be until he could afford his own, which he could by now, but it was all too complicated and legal so he just kept this one. His boss didn’t mind as long it was available to use during the week and he kept it clean. His boss was one of a kind.

The drive was easy, windows open, music on loud enough to drown out the irritating whirlwind still spiraling in his mind. He was about the only car on the freeway and was careful to go the speed limit, if not below, to know for certain he wouldn’t be pulled over. Who was he kidding, that’s all he thought about when he drove, no matter how good he was at following every single rule you learn in Driver’s Ed… which he never took. Could never afford. Always too scared to ask for.

He got to the airport about an hour early and parked in the cell lot to wait for Ian’s go ahead. He cracked the windows and tilted his seat back, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t hear the banging. Closing his eyes, he drifted. It was quiet, peaceful. Before the fictional banging could happen there was actual banging. He shot up, eyes spread wide, heart beating a mile a minute.

“Aye!” banging, banging, “Pendejo! You can’t sleep here.” 

“Lo siento. I’m sorry, I’m not,” he apologized repeatedly to this mall cop looking motherfucker who really had no authority, just a fancy uniform, “I’m just waiting for someone,” the guy gave him a nasty look as he walked away that Mickey would not have tolerated had this conversation been in Chicago two years ago. He would’ve pummeled his face into the scalding hot concrete within seconds. He could never catch a break. Fictional banging or real banging, it never stopped. 

He spent the next hour on his phone trying to search for anything that could get him back in touch with Mandy. Looked her up on Facebook: nothing, Twitter: nothing, Instagram: nothing. It was like she dropped off the face of the Earth. He only hoped that she was thinking the same about him and that Kenyatta hadn’t taken his abuse to the length Terry did with his mom and killed her.

\- 12:12pm: landed!!!!!!! meet you at the baggage claim

His heart twisted in the best way possible. He was only minutes away from his fix, from his cure. 

• 12:13pm: shit, just woke up :/ can you wait for me?  
\- 12:14pm: haha you’re sooo funny… see you in a few minutes

Mickey grinned and rubbed his eyes, only partially wishing that lie was true. He grabbed his keys and hopped out of the car, locking it as he started walking toward the main entrance. 

He stood by the moving loop in the middle of the airport, labeled with Ian’s flight number. Bags were coming down the conveyor belt and he was pacing back and forth, looking at both possible directions Ian could come from. There he was.

Their eyes locked and Ian started jogging with his long ass legs, cutting the travel time in half. They connected again like magnets. Mickey’s arms around a neck, Ian’s around a waist. Fitting like puzzle pieces, as always. Mickey felt Ian breath in through his nose before kissing his neck. Both of their eyes were closed to just soak in the moment, and for the first time in months Mickey heard no banging. Imaginary or otherwise. His person was here. 

Ian pulled back looking him up and down, Mickey’s hands lingered on his shoulders, “Why are you dressed like a dad?”

Mickey pursed his lips and flipped him off, smiling immediately afterwards, “Fuck off, I love this shirt.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, Jesus. Come here,” Ian grabbed Mickey by the back of the neck and went for it. PDA or not, they both needed this. Ian slotted his lips with Mickey’s, both moving and tilting at the exact right times like they had never been apart at all. Mickey was the one to pull back, so grateful to have Ian back in his life. Neither of them really knew how long he’d stay, but that didn’t matter. He was here and that’s the only thing that both of them cared about.

“You look so tired, Mick.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, man. Let’s get your bags.”

Mickey started walking away, Ian following quickly behind, “It’s not gonna go away if you don’t talk about it.”

“I got it covered, it’s fine.” He was watching each suitcase pass by on the belt, “What do they look like?”

“Black with red pockets.”

Mickey found them and walked around the loop to the left side, grabbing them both by the handles and started the journey back out to the parking lot. 

“Come on, Mickey, you’re walking like a fucking zombie. You expect me to believe you have it covered? That everything’s fine?” 

Mickey turned his head to the side to make his voice a little clearer, “You comin’ or not, Gallagher?” 

Ian shook his head, held onto his backpack straps and started following his stubborn love. He caught up quickly because of his, again, giraffe legs. Both of Mickey’s hands were occupied by luggage but had they been vacant, Ian would’ve grabbed one. Mexico was a new place. PDA was acceptable. Mickey was finally able to be completely and utterly free and Ian had every intention of using that to his advantage. Hand holding, kissing, hugging, walking with his hand on Mickey’s waist, it doesn’t matter. He’d take anything over their old, restrictive life. 

“Can you get the keys out of my pocket?” Mickey gestured down to the pocket on his chest with his chin and Ian nodded. He put his index and middle finger in, moving them down further than the pocket was sewn to find Mickey’s nipple, “Not now,” Mickey tilted his head with a pleading look, “my hands are burning, come on. The fuck you got in here anyway, why’s it so heavy?”

Ian laughed and finally unlocked the car, opening the trunk so Mickey could slide the bags in and shut the lid. Ian still had the keys and Mickey held his hand out, arching his eyebrows, knowing what was coming, “You sure you don’t want me to drive?” 

“Ian,” he looked directly in his eyes, wanting so badly to just get in the car and out of the sun, “I don’t know what I gotta do to convince you I’m fine, but just hand me the keys and we’ll talk about it on the way home.”

He knew Ian would give him the keys, he had no other choice. He had nowhere to go and Mickey wasn’t about to get in the passenger seat, “Whatever.”

“That’s my boy, get in. It’s hot as balls out here.”

They got in, Mickey turned the car on and cranked the air conditioner. The temperature change between ten and noon was ridiculous, even in March. He pulled out of the spot and found his way back to the freeway.

“Okay. Talk.”

“About what?”

About what, he knew what. They both knew what, “What do you think?”

“Again, it’s not a big deal,” Mickey kept his left hand on the wheel and moved his right to Ian’s thigh, giving a slight squeeze, “I work a lot and don’t have much time for sleep. It’s fine.”

“That’s bull, Mickey. No mechanic works twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week with not even a few hours a day to sleep.”

Mickey had to get this over with. The sooner he just spit it out, the sooner Ian would stop being so weird adamant about it, “Okay, I gotta little bit of an anxiety problem. A controlled problem.”

Ian turned his head to look at him, Mickey could see out of the corner of his eye he was concerned, “What do you mean anxiety? Like panic attacks?”

“Occasionally. Mostly just overthinking shit,” he hated this, being so vulnerable, “thinking the cops are gonna come bangin’ on my fuckin’ door every time I close my eyes.”

Ian watched him, noticing his eyes drooping still, “When was the last time you slept?”

“Today’s Saturday so… Thursday? Got maybe an hour or two before my alarm went off.” 

“Jesus, Mickey, what the fuck?” Ian moved his whole body in his seat to turn and face Mickey completely, “You need to go to the doctor, get some meds. This isn’t healthy.”

“Relax, man. I’ll be able to sleep now that you’re here,” he smiled, and put his right hand back on Ian’s thigh after it had been shrugged off when Ian moved around.

Ian put his own hand over Mickey’s, grasping it tightly, “That doesn’t mean the anxiety’s gonna go away. I know how it is, Mick. Remember when I thought there were MP’s outside, ready to take me away? Same thing.” 

Mickey shook his head, “Not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it? You’re paranoid about being taken. So was I.”

He was right and Mickey knew it. He thought back to how Ian almost hit his sister with a baseball bat and then thought about how he himself keeps a bat hidden under his mattress. And another under the sink in the bathroom. And another under the couch in the living room. And another under the backseat of his car, “Just drop it. I’ll get over it.”

Ian twisted himself back around and settled back in his seat, keeping their hands intertwined. He wasn’t gonna push Mickey because he knew that pushing him to get information never got him anything except pushed away, “Okay.”

Mickey kept driving, on hand on the wheel. It was quiet and there was some residual tension in the air, but they were content. He knew that conversation was going to happen at some point during this visit, it was obvious, but he wished it never had to be said to begin with. The only way he could’ve prevented any of this from happening would’ve been to go back in time and somehow stop himself from being born. He knew that was ridiculous but he was born into an anxiety ridden life with no possible escape until Ian came into it but he was still dealing with this mess of a brain, twenty-three years later. It would never end, no matter what Ian said or did or what meds he took, he would always have the memories to worry about.

It took a little over an hour after things went silent for them to pull into the driveway, Mickey popping the trunk. 

Ian stepped out onto the concrete that was covered in a thin layer of windblown sand, “How the fuck did you manage this?” he made a circular motion with his right hand toward Mickey's house, painted a light shade of peach.

Mickey smiled and pulled the bags from the back, “Boss’ place. Lets me rent it with no legal shit. What the fuck are in these anyway?” he handed one bag to Ian and started walking back toward the front door.

“All my clothes,” he followed behind Mickey, “What should I have brought? My one speedo?”

“Don’t get my hopes up.”

Mickey put the key in the lock, opened the door and was met with a gush of ice cold, processed air. He went directly into his, now their, room and finally let his hand drop the led filled suitcase onto the floor, “You can hang your shit in the closet or in the drawers, I don’t know, just wherever it fits. We can get more hangers too if there aren’t enough.”

“Mickey Milkovich makes his bed? Who are you?” 

Mickey turned his head around from where he was standing looking into his closet, trying to reorganize things and make some room, “Not much to make when you’re never in it.” 

That hit Ian in the chest a little harder than he’d ever want Mickey to know. He didn’t know what had happened to him. Where was the confident, brave, fearless man he fell in love with all those years ago. He wanted Mickey to tell him everything that’s gone on in his head, everything that he’s never been told, but he’s wait for his love to do that on his own time. No pushing, “Do you have anything to drink?”

Mickey backed out of the closet and nodded, leading Ian into the kitchen and holding the fridge door open for Ian to inspect, “Beer, water, coke- the liquid, not the powder,” Ian rolled his eyes and grabbed a bottle of beer, “We got tequila too?” 

“Nah, I’m good. Makes my clothes fall off.” 

“Here,” Mickey grabbed the bottle of Jose Cuervo off the counter and held it out to Ian by the neck, “chug the whole thing. Please.”

Ian swiveled on his feet and headed toward the sliding glass door leading to the back deck while Mickey stuck the jug of alcohol into the freezer for later. Opening the glass then the screen, Ian stepped outside onto the wooden slats, down a few stairs and plunged his feet into sand for the first time in his life. Well, beach sand. Playgrounds or sand boxes at school don’t technically count. 

His shoulder muscles instantly loosened as he wiggled his toes through the thousands of warm, tiny, golden particles. He looked into the water, holding his hand on his brow to give his eyes some shade. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” 

Ian turned around and saw Mickey sitting on the deck, feet resting on the final step of the stairs, “Why did I ever choose Chicago over this?”

“I asked myself that same question every single day, man,” he tried his hardest to meet Ian’s stare, but the sun was making that more than difficult. That along with barely being able to make his eyes tilt upward because of how heavy his eyelids were, “Always knew you’d love it.”

Mickey fidgeted with his beer, running an index finger around the opening and Ian saw the gears working away in Mickey’s mind, just by his blank facial expression.

This was what Mickey wanted. This is what he had been dreaming of in prison, lying on his gross ass mattress while his cellmate snored throughout the entire night. His lack of sleep started from that, but became more person as the loneliness went on and on and on and was forced to confront all the demons that he had suppressed in his mind for years prior. It was the worst at night, always was, probably always would be. 

He’d start thinking about his mom and his sister, his son, his love. Everything that had gone on in that house, all of the beatings, the yelling and screaming matches, the hiding spots he and Mandy were forced to make just to stay out of their dad’s way when they were little. Every bad thing in his life would come rushing back when he was in complete darkness with nothing to do but let it happen. 

Every night he willed his brain to outweigh the bad memories would good possibilities. The beach. He and Ian. Happy and free. Living together by the ocean, so far away from everything and everyone who had ever done them wrong. That was the goal.

“You wanna take a nap?"

Ian’s voice brought him out of his hazy trance, looking up with his eyes squinted into narrow lines, trying to avoid the giant ball of flaming gas that was burning his already stinging eyes, “You can.”

“You try to act all cool, but I know you’re tired.”

“I never said I wasn’t tired,” Mickey laughed it off, standing up and moving back across the deck toward the house, “just can’t turn this fuckin’ thing off,” he lifted a finger and tapped on his temple as Ian followed him back inside.

Ian put his beer on a blue coaster that sat on the coffee table before falling back onto the white leather couch, scattered with navy blue throw pillows. He looked around and noticed that everything seemed to be white and blue. A white kitchen table with blue chairs, the tv stand was a solid, deep, royal blue, the coffee table was white, even the curtains that Mickey was currently closing over the big glass door were a blue and white paisley pattern, shading the whole house once shut. 

“You pick out all this color coordinated stuff or was it here when you moved in?”

“Nah, boss had a bunch of green and yellow shit covering this place. Looked like actual shit,” Mickey sat down next to Ian, knees touching. "Thought the white would lighten it up, ya know?”

Mickey made this a home to the best of his abilities. A home for himself, by himself.

“I like it,” Ian squeezed Mickey’s thigh with his left hand and rested his head on the back of the couch, tilting it to look at his love’s profile, “I missed you.”

“We’ve talked every day since you left,” Mickey looked back at him, eyes tracing over all of Ian’s features so he could update his mental picture, just in case he decided to leave again, “but I guess I missed you too.”

Ian lifted his right hand up and placed it on Mickey’s cheek, thumbing over his cheekbone, “You’re an ass.”

“Aye, at least I kept talking to you after that and didn’t turn into a ghost for what? Eight months?” Mickey stood up and went to their room, both of Ian’s hands falling back into his lap. 

“Still haven’t forgiven me, huh?” Ian had to basically yell it at him to overpower the intense humming that came from the air conditioner that had been hard at work all day.

Mickey took some clothes out of Ian’s bags that had been left open but untouched on their bed, pulled some drawers out and started folding and hooking shirts onto some extra hangers he had, “Nope,” he called back, “gotta work for that shit.” He put a pair of shorts in the previously empty drawer and spoke softly under his breath to be sure Ian wouldn’t hear, “I always did.”

Ian ran in and belly-flopped onto the bed, holding his head up in the palms of his hands, getting two arched eyebrows from Mickey as a response, “Never thought I’d see you folding laundry.”

“I’m a changed man with no sister to pay to do it for me.”

Ian watched him fold his t-shirts and shorts, but he hung the one and only sweatshirt he brought, knowing it’d take up too much room in the drawer.

Mickey got down to the bottom of one suitcase and there was a yellow envelope with ‘Mickey’ written on the outside, “What’s this?” 

Ian’s brows were furrowed, not knowing what Mickey was talking about and not remembering that he kept who he ran into two days before a secret. He rearranged himself to sit criss-cross applesauce and looked over into the barren suitcase, “OH!” 

“The fuck is it?”

“Open it, it’s not from me.”

Ian was smiling and looked kind of excited but Mickey was so confused and weary of even touching it. Ian wasn’t supposed to tell anyone where he was or that he knew Mickey was even alive. He picked it up and pulled the seal apart, pulling a card out. 

On the front there was appeared to be a father and son sitting together on a pier, fishing rods poking up into the air. He opened it and a picture fell to the ground, he left it there while he read the inside.

‘Mickey & Daddy-  
We hope you are okay. Carrot boy said he is going to see you.  
Yevgeny is good boy. Smart. I tell him about you. Dada was first word.  
We are in trouble. Police are looking for me. I did not tell orange boy.  
I can’t get taken. Yev will have no one. Please help.  
Love, Svet & Yev’

Mickey’s mouth was parted, brows brought together, barely breathing. There was a mess of blue crayon drawn onto the empty left side of the card. He looked up and Ian’s face had gone from thrilled to worried, “What does it say?”

Mickey handed him the folded piece of paper from a shaky grip and bent down to get the fallen picture. Oh my god, he looked like his father, “Shit.”

Blue eyes, so bright and inviting. Brows just as expressive. Hair a light, golden brown. Same nose, same lips. Mickey was lost for words, completely speechless at how much his baby had grown. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t been able to even glance at Yev at one point because now he couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

“What the fuck,” Ian woke Mickey up again and they looked at each other, both with the same troubled expression on their faces, “what the fuck?”

“Look,” he handed Ian the picture and his face softened.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ian handed him back the card without looking up, “he’s your twin.”

Mickey read the card over and over and over again, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Svetlana of all people was reaching out to him, again, of all people, for help. She used to be a woman who would die before asking him for anything besides money and some love for Yev.

He moved around the bed and set the card on top of his nightstand, sure to look at it and read it whenever possible. Ian broke the silence again, “What are we gonna do?”

“What do you mean?”

Ian looked at him like he was stupid, like he hadn’t just read Svet’s note 20 times, “They need help? What are we gonna do?”

“Nothing I can do, man,” he zipped the one empty suitcase up, pulled it off the bed and shoved it into a hall closet just outside the bedroom. “Wish I could help, but I can’t.”

“Bring them here.”

Mickey’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline, “Excuse me?”

“I’ll go back and get them. We have the spare room and Yev’s still little so they can share for now.”

“How do you plan on getting them here without passports, genius? I’m not spending another two fuckin’ months here alone, you can’t do that,” Mickey turned and made his way to the kitchen, getting the coffee out to make another serving of liquid sleep.

“I fly there, get a car and drive back. Simple.”

“Yeah, and then they’re stuck here with me forever ‘cause they can’t get back into America,” he scooped some black grounds into the filter before moving the pot over to the sink to fill it with water. “Svet’s life is already as fucked as mine but Yev has a chance and I’m not about to stick him in a house with a fugitive and an illegal immigrant before he’s even old enough to know what the fuck we’re doing to him. He can’t even stick up for himself. It’s not happening.”

Ian wasn’t sure what he was more confused by: Mickey making coffee at five o’clock in the afternoon or him being so blatantly dismissive over what Yev’s life would be like without him, “So you’re gonna let Lana get deported and have Yev get thrown into the system instead of them being here with us? Safe? She can be the stay at home mom she’s always wanted to be? Yev will have three parents who love him? You really don’t want that?”

Mickey’s jaw was clenching. He did want it. He wanted it so, so bad. Ian would never be able to fully understand what it was like to live in Mickey Milkovich’s body and mind. Everyone has relied on him since he was little, never taking time for himself. It kept him busy during his teens, just doing anything and everything to get out of the house and away from his dad. But now? He couldn’t help them and there was nothing he could do about it, no matter how badly he wanted to save the say once again, he couldn’t.

“You said they lived with Kev and Vee,” he turned the coffee pot on and turned around, leaning back on the counter, “Kev’s seven foot, dopey ass can adopt him or some shit, I don’t know.”

“He needs his dad, Mick.”

There was a pregnant pause before Mickey was the one to break the silence, “You want somethin' to eat?”

Ian rolled his eyes at the failed attempt of a subject change, “No, you know what I want? I want you to sleep so you can get your fucking head on straight and realize that leaving them in a country which is now being run by someone who’s main goal is getting immigrants out of there is your stupidest idea since getting my fucking name tattooed on your chest.”

Ian carried himself across the room, opened the curtains, slid open the door, and slammed it shut behind him before walking down toward the water, his feet almost frying.

Mickey was left alone again and couldn’t help but notice this reoccurring instance with Ian. Things get tough and Ian runs away, leaving Mickey by himself with his thoughts. It happened after his rape, almost happened before he was pressured into coming out, after their breakup, at the border, and now again. He wanted so badly to go get him and bring him back inside, for more reasons than knowing his skin was going to blister and turn the same color of his hair. 

But he held back, gripping the counter with his fingers so tightly his knuckles were white. He needed Ian to come back to him for once. He had physically come to Mexico, but Mickey was the one who called him after the border mess. He sometimes thought if he hadn’t, would Ian have called him? Or if he hadn’t escaped from prison, would Ian have let him rot in there for fifteen years without ever visiting him again?

His feet stayed planted on the ground, almost like the hardwood was solidifying concrete that trapped him in place. His coffee was done and the beeping pulled his head above water. He needed to stop zoning out.

Grabbing his third mug today, he poured another serving and chugged it down like he’s collapse if he didn’t get the caffeine into his body within seconds. He moved to sit on the couch, the bronze sunset beaming inside. He saw Ian standing with his feet in the water and forced down a smile. The dream was right in front of him, right in the palm of his hand… Why was it still so hard to be happy? 

The sun was fully set and the sky was black when Ian finally came back inside. Ian turned a lamp on and jolted Mickey out of his haze, realizing he’d been sitting in darkness for who knows how long.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Mickey continued staring forward and took a deep breath, “What do you mean?

“You know what I mean, Mickey,” Ian’s arms were crossed over his chest.

“And you know what I mean when I say I got it covered. Drop it.”

“No, I’m not gonna drop it and yeah, I know what you mean. It means you don’t really have it covered and you’re just putting off telling me the truth. Same thing happened before the border, you said you had it covered but you didn’t,” there was little to no heat in his tone, just pure concern. “I just wanna help you, Mick, and I can’t help until you tell me what the fuck happened within the last few months.”

There was silence, only the air conditioner humming at a lower setting after the heat of the day had passed. Ian took a seat in the matching white leather chair, getting ready for the long conversation to come and Mickey ran his tongue over his top teeth and tried to plan what exactly he was going to say and how to go about saying it. He didn’t want to sound desperate, because he wasn’t. He wasn’t needy and didn’t want Ian to start pitying him. He hated this, but was also too tired to care.

“I’ve dealt with anxiety since I was a kid,” he started and relaxed back into the couch, “just easier to cover it up back in the day, I guess.”

“You used to sleep, though?”

“It’s not just sleep, man,” Mickey shook his head, “it’s worrying about the stupidest shit. Shit that isn’t even there or has, like, no chance of happening. It’s all the time. My fuckin’ brain won’t shut itself off.”

“Like my mania.”

“No,” he started, “your brain made you feel invincible, mine makes me feel like everything is falling on top of me and no matter how hard I put up a fuckin’ fight or try to stop it, it just buries me in fear.”

Ian was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, just soaking up everything Mickey was giving him, “What made it start?”

Mickey scoffed a little, “Uh… Dad beating me for no reason, maybe? Walking on eggshells in your own fuckin’ house ‘cause anything you do or say is gonna get you hit?”

Ian knew his family had it bad, but not as bad as the Milkoviches. At least Mickey and Mandy, the other two were their dad’s pride and joy even though they were dumber than a box of rocks.

“You’re so far away from him now, why are you still thinking about it?”

“You asked what started it, not why it still happens.”

“Okay, then why does it still happen?” 

Mickey actually laughed at him, “What’s there not to fuckin’ worry about?” he looked over Ian’s face, ending up staring him straight in the eyes, “Police,” he held up his pointer finger, “you,” added his middle, “money,” ring, “Mandy,” pinky, “work,” and ended with his thumb.

Ian stayed silent for a few beats, nodding his head a little bit. He understood where Mickey was coming from, but he didn’t know how to respond. He knew this was a huge step for Mickey, someone who never ever shared his feelings or would admit he had any mental issues. He hadn’t admitted it yet, but Ian knew he needed help.

“And now,” Mickey leaned forward and took a sip of Ian’s abandoned beer from hours ago, “I got Lana and Yev on my back too.”

“I know you don’t wanna hear this, but I think having them here would be good for you.”

“What, you gonna leave again?”

“No,” he dragged the word out as if Mickey should know that by now, “I just think that having more people here to keep you occupied would be better. Ya know, keep your focus on doing this with Yev or helping Lana with dinner. Just simple stuff to get your mind off the cops.”

“Having them here would make my fuckin’ paranoia multiply by two. Already doubled now that you’re here ‘cause they’ll take both of us, but if they come? They’re takin’ all three of us and Yev’s gonna be more fucked than he would be in America.”

The gears were working in Ian’s brain and he could tell they were working in Mickey’s too. He knew that deep down Mickey wanted them there and that he was really just trying to keep them safe, but they were fucked either way so why did it matter? 

“Mickey, listen to me,” Ian snapped his fingers in Mickey’s direction to get him to meet his eyes, “you, Lana, Yev, and me? We’re a family. She wouldn’t be asking you for help if she didn’t need it.”

The word ‘family’ always meant so much to Mickey. In the beginning, his family was his mom and sister. It eventually expanded to Ian and then Lana and Yev. And he knew Ian was right, but it was too risky.

“Imagine if this was Mandy. Would you just ignore her like this? Let her drown out there while she’s struggling and begging for help?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, then let me go back and get them.”

Mickey thought about it, relaxing back into the couch and letting out a deep breath that almost turned into a groan. He wanted them there. He wanted a relationship with Yev, wanted to be the dad he deserved. He was the product of a traumatizing situation, but having Yev made Mickey want to be a better person.

He had everything he needed to be a good dad now, at least everything that would lead to Yev being happy and taken care of. A house, a car, a job. He even had a stash of money he put away every month that he planned of giving to Yev once he was eighteen. How he would get it to him, he didn’t know. It just made him feel closer to him, imagining fourteen years from now somehow finding him and helping him with college or a car or anything he wanted to use the money for. Maybe the money would make up for the lack of physical presence he had in Yev’s life.

But if he could form a relationship now instead of in the future, that would be ideal. Make memories with Yev, be a dad, not just someone who pops up when he’s grown to give him money and then expect to be accepted into his life. 

And Lana could be helpful. She and Mickey never really saw eye to eye on a lot of things. They were both stubborn and just wanted normality, never being able to find it, not only in each other but within life in general. She knew Mickey, she knew Ian, she knew how this would work. They’d done it in the past; all lived together, and they made it work. 

“How you planning on getting back? How are you gonna get a car?”

Ian sat up straight, “Um, I guess steal one like we did.”

“I could meet you near the border so we could ditch it early.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Ian was nodding his head almost violently. He wanted this so badly. 

“You really wanna do this?”

Ian continued moving his head up and down. Mickey thought he might give himself whiplash, “Yes.”

Mickey ran both hands through his hair and down his face, pausing to dig his fingers into his eyes, attempting to remove some of the tired, “Whatever, man. You gotta book the flight and shit, I’m staying out of it.”

“Seriously?” Ian had a huge smile spread across his face, grinning from ear to ear.

“I guess. All three of you aren’t giving me much of a choice, are ya?”

“This is gonna be good, Mickey, I promise.”

Mickey slowly agreed, bobbing his head. He knew it would be fine, if only his mind could stop reeling and focus on the positive facts instead of the negative what ifs.

Ian got up and held Mickey’s head with both hands on his temples and kissed him on the forehead, Mickey’s hands found their way to Ian’s waist, “I love you so much,” Ian whispered into his hair. 

Mickey smiled and looked up at him, still seated on the couch, “I just realized we never ate dinner.” 

“Don’t care," Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand and pulled him up to stand, “Let’s go to bed.”


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey turned the lamp off and Ian pulled his hand to lead him to their room, the house barely lit by only the moon. Ian’s knees met the edge of the bed and he started stripping down to his boxers, climbing up and crawling toward the pillows. 

Mickey unbuttoned his floral dad shirt and went to the bathroom to stall the inevitable sleepless night ahead of him, knowing full well Ian expected him to finally get some rest. He turned on the light and applied some toothpaste to his brush, ran it under some water and began brushing. 

He walked back out into the room and watched as Ian read over Svetlana’s card again, then as he switched his focus to the picture of Yevgeny. He looked hopeful and content, as if he already knew everything would be okay. Mickey only wished he could be that confident in this fucked up situation.

Ian eventually noticed his presence and looked up, face scrunching, “That mint is gonna burn my dick, what the fuck are you doing?”

Mickey’s eyebrows arched so far up his forehead, they almost flew off. He pulled out the toothbrush and tried to talk with a mouth full of foam, “Oh, really?”

Ian laughed a little and Mickey went back into the bathroom to spit, while Ian went back to looking at Yev, admiring just how much he looked like his dad. Looking at him almost made Ian nostalgic in a way, remembering Mickey as a little kid on their little league team. Dye Yev’s hair black and he’d be a carbon copy.

“You really think you’re gettin’ some, huh?” Mickey threw his shirt into the hamper, along with his pants. He saw Ian’s pile of shed items sitting on the floor and moved to pick them up in a clump, put them in the leftover suitcase on the bed and threw it into a corner, “You want me to suck your dick when you’re already turnin’ my house into a fuckin’ pigsty?”

“Fuck off, like you ever kept your old place clean.”

Mickey lifted his knee up onto the mattress and raised himself up before sliding under the covers and pulling them toward his waist, “Well, this isn’t my dad’s place,” he slid himself down to rest his head on the pillows instead of the headboard, “and I’m not making it a mess just to spite him.” 

Ian put Svetlana’s card back on the nightstand and flipped himself over onto his right side to look at Mickey, “So what’s gonna happen tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Book your flight, go buy a bed for them, get the kid toys or some shit, I don’t know.”

Humming, Ian started tracing the tips of his fingers over Mickey’s stomach, creating a field of goosebumps.

His eyes were heavy, a yawn escaped his lips before explaining the plan, “You gotta leave here on Wednesday, start driving back on Thursday so I can pick you up on Saturday and be home Sunday for work on Monday,” he laughed at himself. “Jesus Christ, I sound like a fuckin’ mom planning her kid’s soccer schedule.”

Ian smiled and continued drawing with the pad of his index finger on Mickey’s soft belly, spelling out things like, ‘I love u’ or ‘ur cute’. 

“Listen, uh,” Mickey ran his tongue over his bottom lip in deep thought, “have you heard from Mandy lately? I’ve been trying to find her for months and she’s like a fuckin’ ghost or some shit. There’s nothing about her online.”

“Saw her a while ago.”

Mickey straightened himself up a little, Ian’s hand remaining on his abdomen, “You saw her? She okay?”

Ian shifted his eyes to look up at a very concerned Mickey, “She was…” he nodded, “Yeah, she was okay.”

“What does that mean, what was she doing? She still with that piece of shit?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t tell me,” Ian was contemplating telling him everything, but it wasn’t really his position and he knew both Mickey and Mandy would be angry if he did, even if it would be for different reasons. “She’s got money, though. New car, nice clothes. Looks like she belongs in northside.”

Mickey laughed and leaned his head back with a smile, “How’s she doin’ that? Whorin’ herself out?”

Ian stayed silent and had no idea how to respond to that. He either lied and had that lie eventually catch up to him or he told the truth and risked Mickey blowing up. Before he could make a decision, Mickey had already caught onto his silence, “Ian… What the fuck is she doing?”

There were a few more moments of dead air before Mickey got up out of bed, leaving Ian alone under the sheets, “Tell me.”

Ian sat up and relaxed his head back, hitting the headboard with a slight thud. He tried to map out their last encounter and fix up the vaguest description that would keep him on both of their good sides, “She’s doing what she has to do to get by,” he stared at the ceiling, knowing Mickey had his focus only on him, “and I think you of all people know she’s strong enough to do that.”

Mickey just looked at him in shock, mouth slightly parted, brain-tornado coming back again, “You’re telling me that my sister is a fucking prostitute?”

Ian knew Mickey wasn’t going to stop until he got answers. Being vague wasn’t going to work, “Not a prostitute,” shook his head, “an escort.”

You could hear a pin drop in their room. Nothing but blinking, fists clenching and invisible fumes coming out of Mickey’s ears, “And that makes a fuckin’ difference? She’s selling herself out and you didn’t think to tell me that?”

“You don’t get it, Mick.”

“What the fuck is there not to get, huh?”

“I did it too, remember?” Ian finally met his eyes, trying to show his sincerity and how little he wanted to talk about this all at the same time, “I know how bad it is, she doesn’t need us riding her ass about it, alright?”

Mickey’s fists loosened and he just paced back and forth across their room, eyes flickering left and right, trying to make sense of this, “You gotta bring her back too, man. She can’t live like that.”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning, can you just please come back in here?” Ian lifted the sheets back on Mickey’s side, patting the mattress.

Mandy was just as tough as, if not tougher than, Mickey and he understood that she could hold her own. But he also took a moment to reflect on his life and looked at his life from an outsider’s perspective. He went from the city thug to a scared, weak man, albeit involuntarily, but his mental illness had taken over. He wasn’t able to keep the tough guy mask on anymore and he knew Mandy wouldn’t be able to keep hers on forever either. Her walls would be broken down sooner or later and she might accidentally slip up on something; get herself hurt. He needed her here with them. Needed to keep her safe.

He stopped his nervous pacing before he reluctantly got back under the covers, this time closer to Ian. Both of their bodies radiating enough heat to create sort of a sauna type cocoon.

He was tense next to Ian, both physically and mentally. No movement or words, just a stiff body. The way they were just next to each other, sides touching but not connecting, felt foreign. They hadn’t been like this since Ian’s depression, and neither of them liked it. Minute by minute, they felt more and more like tectonic plates, slowly drifting in different directions. 

They both knew this feeling of distance would only be temporary and that it would pass as it always did, someone just had to make the first move to get them back on track. Ian was that someone this time.

“Stop thinking,” he rolled over on top of Mickey, letting the majority of his weight fall onto him, barely holding himself up with his forearms, “it’ll all be okay,” he placed an open-mouthed kiss onto the sweet spot right behind Mickey’s ear, “let me,” one on his neck, “take,” one on his collarbone, “your mind,” in the middle of his chest, “off of it.” 

Ian started leaving kisses down Mickey’s sternum, staying away from the scarred tattoo, sucking lightly on his skin with each one. His entire body eventually became covered by their comforter and Mickey took this as an opportunity to let his eyes rest for a second or two. He was distracted enough by Ian that the banging could hopefully be blocked out. His eyes flickered shut as his head fell back, feeling an intense burning behind his eyelids after days of them drying out. 

Mickey was focused on Ian and Ian only. He felt hands and lips everywhere, touching every part of him. His own hands found their way under the sheet and gripped into Ian’s hair, tugging softly. Ian was biting at the skin spread over Mickey’s hipbones, making sure to leave marks across his entire pelvis. 

Ian’s head kept moving and Mickey’s hands followed, his arms like limp noodles. Mickey felt the waistband of his boxers get pulled down slightly, followed by a steady, hot breathing over his dick. Then it was hot and wet, tight and pressured. Ian took him down in one try, Mickey’s breath hitching then becoming heavily and stable once again.  
His eyes stayed shut after the burning had subsided, completely captivated by what was happening between his legs. His mind was clear for the first time in months, unable to think about anything other than Ian. 

Mickey didn’t know how long Ian had been at this, could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours. It didn’t matter because Mickey was close. His back was arching, fingers squeezing securely in Ian’s hair. He was too far gone to feel Ian moving in a different direction and then there was a bang.

His moans and grunts immediately stopped when his eyes shot wide open and he wriggled his legs away from Ian, “What the fuck was that?” he pulled himself up so his back was flush against the headboard, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Ian flipped the covers back over his head so he could look at Mickey, “What do you mean, what’s wrong?”

“That noise, what the fuck was it?”

“I… I got the lube out of the drawer?”

Mickey’s eyes were burning again, not from dryness time, but from premature tears. He folded his legs up to his ribs, wrapped his arms around his shins and set his chin on his knees. His vision was becoming blurred and he felt drops of water fall onto his cheekbones, “I’m sorry, man.”

Ian crawled back up to his side of the bed, got himself comfortable, and grabbed Mickey’s shoulders to gently pull him down. Mickey flung a leg over Ian’s, an arm gripping around his waist, holding on to him as if he was a koala bear clinging to a branch, seconds from falling out of a tree.

Stretching an arm out, Ian turned off the lamp and they were left in darkness. Tears were dripping against his skin but he didn’t care. He let Mickey cry it out while rubbing slow circles across his entire back, “It’s okay. I got you.”

They stayed like that for hours. Mickey knew Ian had eventually fell asleep because the back rubs stopped, but, as usual, he stayed awake. He considered getting up, making coffee, and watching T.V like his typical 5 o’clock in the morning routine, but he couldn’t move. His body was anchored to the bed, eyes glued to the blank wall. 

Where he was at that moment in time was the epitome of comfort. There was no logical reason why he couldn’t sleep, as hard as he tried to think of one. All he could think of was Mandy. So, for a moment he forced his lids shut, scrunching his face up to keep them from popping open, trying to crush the thoughts of his baby sister as a fucking escort out of his mind. He listened to Ian’s heartbeat, soft and solid; grounding. Eventually, the beats turned into a lullaby and his facial muscles relaxed. The dose of Xanax personified had kicked in, his body gave out and he fell asleep for the first time in three days. 

Ian was the first to wake up, skin laced with sweat after hours of being held captive underneath a heavy body. He looked down at Mickey through squinted eyes, blinded by the sun. His cheek was stuck to his chest, lips parted, lashes fluttering as if he was in the middle of a dream; he was peaceful.

He took a minute to just admire him, to take it all in. He watched as Mickey’s face twitched, lips pulled down slightly into a frown, nostrils flared, eyebrows furrowed. He looked distressed and Ian didn’t know how he could still be so expressive on the middle of such a deep sleep. He ran his hands through Mickey’s hair, hoping to lull the dreaming boy into a calmer state. All of Mickey’s facial features immediately softened at the touch, almost as if he needed reassurance that Ian was there even while he was sort of unconscious.

Ian grabbed a pillow from Mickey’s side of the bed and gently replaced his upper body with it, resting Mickey’s head on top of it in a much more comfortable position than he was in before. He stalled for a second when Mickey stirred and reached out for what he thought was Ian, securing his hold onto the pillow. Ian took another pillow and slowly put one of Mickey’s legs over it, like he had been doing to Ian himself, leaving Mickey to spoon and drool on a much more squishy, satisfying version of Ian.

He walked on his tip toes to the bathroom to get those little orange prescription bottles out of the medicine cabinet. Mickey had put them there himself earlier the previous day and it felt permanent. Ian didn’t even need to be told where they were, he just knew. Meds in the cabinet, green toothbrush standing upright next to Mickey’s blue one, two towels hanging behind the door. It was them, and theirs forever. 

He put the daily pills in his mouth and grabbed some water from the sink in his cupped palms, swallowing them down no problem. He noticed Mickey had shifted and kicked the covers off onto the floor as he walked through the room and closed the door behind him, letting Mickey remain in his dream-filled euphoria.

Turning the air conditioner on was a task he was not prepared for so early in the morning. Not only was everything written in Spanish, but the temperatures were in Celsius. He picked a number, ending up with 20, and hoped for the best. He grabbed his phone, Mickey’s pack of cigarettes and lighter off the kitchen counter and went out onto the back porch, taking a seat on the top stair that lead to the sand. 

He lit up and sucked in through the filter, breathing out a thick plume of smoke that got swept away with the ocean breeze. Checking his phone, there were a few messages from his siblings and one from Trevor and he rolled his eyes. Leaving for three days with Mickey without telling him should’ve been a strong enough clue that he was over it, but the guy wouldn’t let up. He deleted the message without reading it and finally just blocked Trevor’s number, not thinking twice about it. There was no doubt in his mind that this is what he wanted and whatever Trevor thought he was bringing to the table wasn’t right for Ian or his life. He was done.

He responded to his family’s texts, most of which were from Fiona, begging him to tell her he was alive. They all thought he was manic when he told them he was leaving for an undetermined amount of time, even though he was the most stable and clearheaded he had been in years. He had sat them down and explained that he felt like his life was at a standstill and he needed some change. He went over his plan about how he was getting to California thoroughly, and although it may have been as fake and fabricated as his relationship with Trevor, he still laid it all out for them to hopefully believe and let him go his own way. 

Eventually he got the main reason he came out here and dialed the number Svetlana had given him a few days prior. He was almost positive it was for the Milkovich house, but it was too early to try and remember.

It rang a few times and then a voice that was most definitely not Lana’s picked up, “Hello?”

The voice woke Ian up instantly. It was young and energetic, way too hyper for this hour, with a minor Russian tinge to it. It was Yev.

“Hey, is this Yevgeny?” he tried to meet the kid’s energy level, raising his voice to a higher pitch.

There was a pause, “Who are you?”

“I’m, uh… My name’s Ian. I’m-” and he was cut off.

“You’re my daddy’s friend!” 

Ian smiled and nodded his head, forgetting that Yev couldn’t see him through the phone, “Yeah, bud. I’m his best friend.”

He didn’t know how Yev was so in the loop and why Lana had even let him learn who Ian was. They were on good terms and she had forgiven him for taking her baby boy, but Ian hadn’t been in his life for years and he wasn’t sure why she would tell Yev about him. Mickey, sure, he was his dad. But Ian had no blood relation and Lana had no real obligation to keep him in the kid’s life. 

Then he thought that maybe, just maybe, she saw him as Yev’s dad too. 

“What’s my daddy doing?”

He sounded genuinely interested and curious. This poor little boy had been involuntarily stripped of a father figure for the first four years of his life, minus Kev, but little did he know that was going to be changing within only a few days, “Shh…” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “he’s still sleeping.”

Yev giggled on the other line, “He can’t hear me!”

Ian giggled back, “I know, silly,” he sounded so much like Mickey. Witty and matter-of-fact, like Ian was stupid for even thinking that his dad could hear him. Lana was right in her card, he was smart. “Listen, Yev, do you know where your mom is?”

“She’s in the shower. Uncle Iggy’s sleeping like daddy.”

And Ian was right. They were back at the Milkovich’s.

“Oh,” he stubbed out his already dead cigarette on the wooden deck and tossed the butt into the sand, “well, I need to talk to her. Will you keep talking to me until she’s done?”

“I can sing the ABCs?”

“Go for it.”

Ian stood up, grabbed the pack of smokes and lighter and walked back toward the house as Yev recited his ABCs. When he opened the glass door and stepped inside the cooled house, there Mickey was with tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, pacing back and forth in the kitchen all while chewing on his thumbnail. He covered the speaker on his phone so the kid wouldn’t hear anything, “Mick?”

Mickey stopped and looked up, shoulders falling back and letting out a held breath, “Fuck.”

“What the fuck happened, why are you crying?” Yev was done with the alphabet and he was blabbering on about how he could spell his own name, first and last, completely oblivious to his dad breaking down. Ian kept staring at Mickey as he talked back to Yev, “Yeah, spell it out for me. Keep talking,” he covered the speaker again.

“I thought they took you or-” he was clearly shaking and had worked himself up over nothing, “or you just left again.”

“Mick, come here,” Ian brought himself over to his love and wrapped his free arm around his neck, holding him as tightly as possible and kissed his head, resting his chin on his mess of morning hair, “you’re okay, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mickey breathed in that familiar, calming scent. His nose pressed roughly into Ian’s chest, both arms gripping around his waist. He could faintly hear someone spelling words and counting slowly through the phone and pulled back with a questioning look on his face and wiped the tears away, “Who’s that?”

He uncovered the speaker to give Mickey his answer, “Hey, Yev?” Mickey’s eyes widened, like a deer in headlights, and he mouthed ‘WHAT?’, leaving his mouth agape, “Your dad just woke up, you wanna talk to him?” He heard the kid on the other line go ballistic, like it was Christmas morning and Mickey was the biggest present in the room, “Okay, here he is.”

He handed Mickey the phone and they both went silent. Mickey put the phone to his ear and his mind was blank. All he could form was, “Hello?”

“Daddy?!”

How could one little person be so enthusiastic about talking to him, Mickey didn’t know. But it felt damn good to be wanted like this. That one word brought him back to reality and filled his brain back up with words and responses, “Hey, little man. What’s up?”

He was smiling at Ian and his cheeks already hurt, the backs of his eyes burning with tears. He needed this. He needed this boy in his life forever.

“When can I meet you?”

That hurt Mickey’s heart more than a little. His own kid couldn’t remember knowing him, which made sense because he was just a baby, but Mickey hoped he may have remembered some of the calls he made from prison or the visits Lana brought him to. He gnawed on his bottom lip and watched as Ian took a few steps back and folded his arms across his chest, nodding at Mickey to give the kid an answer.

“In a few days,” Mickey kept his eyes locked on Ian, needing the encouragement, “you and your mom are gonna come live with me and Ian.”

And, again, it was Christmas day. Yev probably woke up the entirety of Chicago with how loud he screamed, making Mickey pull the phone away from his ear and laugh. Then a thick Russian voice was in the background telling Yev to be quiet and soon took the phone from the boy’s grip and snarled into it, “Who is this?”

“Hey, Lana, it’s Mickey.”

“Oh,” her tone softened, “how are you doing?”

Mickey pulled out one of the wooden chairs around the kitchen table and took a set as Ian moved to start a pot of coffee, “I’m good. Ian gave me your card.”

There was a lengthy pause, like she was nervous about what was to come, “Yes?”

“And, uh,” he traced his finger over the grains in the table, and continued confidently, “we talked about it and we really want you guys to come down here.”

He felt a hand on his should as Ian filled the chair next to him and put two cups of the fresh, hot, jet-black liquid in front of them.

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he took a sip of his drink and winced at it frying his tongue and throat, “I mean we’re not living in, like, a fuckin’ mansion or anything but there’s an extra room and it’s yours if you want it.”

It sounded like she tilted the phone away from her mouth, her voice was quieter, “Yev, go wake up uncle Iggy.”

“So? What do you think?” he leaned back in his seat and waited for her to reply. To think that just last night he was refusing to have them come confused him beyond belief because now, he wanted to snap his fingers and have them here instantaneously.

“Are you sure you can handle Yev? He is good boy, but handful.”

“Ankle biter can’t be too bad. Me and Ian can give you a break from him, too.”

He saw Ian nodding his head, agreeing with everything he was saying. She sighed through the phone and seemed reluctant yet helpless, “How will we get there?”

“Ian’s gonna fly back on Wednesday, you guys drive halfway to the border on Thursday, the rest on Friday and you’re gonna meet up with me once you cross it. Then, we’ll drive halfway here on Saturday and the rest on Sunday ‘cause I gotta be at work on Monday.”

She was quiet for a beat, clearly thinking about her lack of options, “Is carrot boy staying?”

He looked at Ian and had a spontaneous flashback to the border. He didn’t know if he was staying but he couldn’t let himself think about him leaving right now. Lord, he had a panic attack this morning over Ian being gone when he was literally right outside the door, “I think so.”

“We will be ready on Thursday.”

“Alright, sounds good. We gotta go buy you guys a bed, so… Can I say bye to Yev?”

There was some fumbling around with the phone and a faded, ‘Yev, come say bye to daddy.’

“Thank you, Mickey.”

“No,” he smiled and knew she meant what she said. She needed help and he was always there, even thousands of miles away. He was someone she could count on. He had grown up and she had seen him flourish into a caring, kind, generous human being and father. She was there for all of it, “Thank you, Lana.”

“See you soon. Here’s Yev.”

Before he could say anything else, the kid had pulled the phone away from her grasp and sounded disappointed this time, rather than animated, “Daddy?”

“Guess what?”

His voice picked up a bit, now more intrigued, “What?”

“I’m gonna see you on Friday.”

“REALLY? That’s only in,” he went silent for a few seconds, Mickey assumed to count the days on his fingers, “five days!”

“I know,” he shook his head out of pure disbelief that this kid was his and he was so smart and that he still actually had a chance to be his dad, “you’re so smart.”

“I can count to twenty, you wanna hear?”

He didn’t want to say no. He wanted to hear all the numbers and letters and words and everything this tiny human had to offer. He wanted it all, but they had one day to pick stuff out for their bedroom and the clock was ticking, “I really, really do, bud, but me and Ian have to go do some stuff. You can count to me on Friday, okay?”

“Okay,” Mickey could tell he just crushed this kid again and felt his chest tighten with guilt, “bye.”

“I love you, Yev.”

“I love you too.”

“I'll see you soon, okay? You better be ready to count for me.”

That got a chuckle out of his baby and it made him feel a little lighter about the whole saying bye situation, “I will.”

“Alright, bye, Yevy.”

“Bye, daddy.”

He ended the call, put Ian’s phone face down on the table and ran his hands over his face then through his head, releasing a deep breath, ending with a smile. 

“Someone’s happy.”

Mickey nodded, still grinning like he was on cloud fucking nine, “Feel like a new man. Longest I’ve slept in months, since the night before you left me.”

Ian leaned back, almost snapping his neck as there was nothing to block his head from flying backwards, “Why do you gotta phrase it like that?”

“’Cause it’s true,” he stood up and pecked Ian on the lips. “Now c’mon, we got shit to do. And brush your fuckin’ teeth, your breath smells like ass.”

“We gotta eat first, I’m starving.”

Mickey made his specialty; a fruit platter consisting of pineapple, banana, mango, oranges, apples, strawberries, blackberries, basically every melon or berry imaginable. They ate together on the back deck, sweating but it didn’t matter. Ian made a few comments about how Mickey was now the ‘King of Fruit’, emphasis on the ‘fruit’, and a middle finger was thrown back. 

They showered after that and Mickey may or may not have gotten on his knees for Ian, using his mouth to silently apologize for the two panic attacks within the last twelve hours. They brushed their teeth and exchanged looks in the mirror. 

Mickey was like a completely different person after only four hours of sleep. He was his old, smartass self instead of this drowsy, zombie ready to collapse at any second. He was flirty again and had some pep to his step. He was Mickey.

Ian picked Mickey’s clothes for him after his love had insisted on wearing another floral dad shirt, receiving only his gold speedo being flung at him out of defiance. 

Mickey went into the closet and got the box of cash off the top shelf. Well, not the top, but the highest one he could reach. Folded a few hundred bucks into his pocket and returned the shoebox to its original location. He grabbed the car keys, his wallet and phone and they headed out. He threw Ian the keys so he could start the car and A.C while he doublechecked all the locks on the windows and closed all the blinds. Everything was set and Ian was driving, they were off. 

“Where am I going?”

“Go left, then just keep going ‘cause it goes right to the freeway.”

The drive went smoothly, the radio playing softly while Mickey stared out into the desert. Ian’s hand was placed firmly on his thigh and he felt more content than he had in years. He wanted to bring up Mandy, but this wasn’t the right time. They were in such a happy little bubble and he didn’t want to burst it. But he knew things were going to be okay. Ian was staying, Lana and Yev would be here soon. He would hopefully be able to get in touch with Mandy one of these days. And they would all be fine.

Eventually, they finally found the store after quite a few minutes of domestic bickering about where exactly the place was and then where to park, then they started their search for a bed and extra shit to make it as comfortable as possible; make the transition for Yev easier.

They were walking down an aisle toward the bed department and Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He was expecting some sort of pull away or ‘What the fuck?’ like it had happened so many times before, but he just looked at Mickey’s side profile and he was smiling. So, they walked hand in hand, for the first time ever, in the Mexican equivalent of Ikea. 

“What do we get, a queen or two twins?” Mickey was looking at the price tags while Ian was curling up on every single bed they had on the floor like fucking Goldie Locks trying to find one that was just right. 

“Two twins, kid can’t sleep with his mom forever,” Ian was spread out on the mattress of his choice, looking like a starfish with all of his limbs pointed in different directions.

Mickey sat down in the curve of where Ian’s right arm and leg were aimed, “Alright, two of these and, what, two night stands? How the fuck are we gonna get all this shit home…”

He let himself fall backwards so his head rested on Ian’s stomach. A few years ago, being this open about their relationship was never even an option. Going shopping for furniture together? Please. Holding hands in public? Try again. He liked it, though. Even if his brain kept him trapped in an unwavering state of worry and fear, moments like this made him feel free. 

They got up and told a floor clerk what bed they wanted, Mickey paid cash and the guy said, in his broken English, that the beds could be delivered later that night and they could take the nightstands home with them. 

Now they had a cart filled with two big ass boxes of wooden parts that Ian the Builder would have a field day with tonight and they made their way to the home décor aisles. 

Looking through all the kid themed stuff got them both excited. The sheets and pillows and lamps, all covered in superheroes or trains or puppies. 

“Which ones? Spiderman? Star Wars? Ninja Turtles?”

Mickey pulled the turtle sheets off the rack, “Always my favorite.”

Ian looked at the turtles weaved into the fabric, faces all covered with orange masks, “You had a favorite Ninja Turtle?”

“What, you didn’t?

“More of a Power Rangers kinda kid.”

Mickey just shook his head, “We gotta break up.”

Ian just laughed and they picked out the pillow cases to match. They got some actual pillows along with adult style sheets for Lana and two of the lightest comforters they could find, knowing they’d be sweating their asses off after leaving Chicago’s winter. Some more clothes hangers, some for Ian too, two lamps and a little nightlight got tossed into the mix because who the fuck knows if Yev’s afraid of the dark or not. It’s best to be prepared, right?

Mickey also slipped two picture frames into the cart, one for the photo of Yev from the card and one for future use, after Ian brings him back something from his old place.

They checked out and headed back to the car, Ian lifting the boxes up and into the trunk of the car, not so subtly trying to impress Mickey, “Fuckin’ tough guy, huh?” all he got was an over the shoulder grin in return.

They stopped by a toy store and picked up some trucks and Legos. Even a few Power Rangers action figures and a stuffed Michelangelo turtle to make them both happy and have an equal opportunity to brainwash Yev into liking what they liked.

Once home, they laid all the pieces of the nightstands out on the living room floor. Ian took the more sensible approach and read through the instructions as best he could, more often than not just looking at the pictures and diagrams, while Mickey had no patience and would just take two pieces and see if they fit, like he was putting together a puzzle. 

Lana and Yev’s room was packed with all the ugly ass yellow and green furniture Mickey’s boss had in the house before he moved in, so, item by item, they brought everything out and filled the garden shed up to the brim. 

By the time the room was cleared and the nightstands were built, it was dark outside and they were just relaxing in the living room, fan on, cold beers in hand. Mickey was lying flat on the couch with his head in Ian’s lap, almost being put to sleep by Ian’s fingers massaging at his scalp. It was like he was in a real-life heaven until there was a banging on the front door, causing Mickey to lurch forward, almost dropping his drink, and instinctively grab the baseball bat from underneath the couch.

“Relax, it’s just the beds,” Ian ran a hand over Mickey’s back and squeezed at the base of his neck before he got up to let the men in, “I’m not even gonna ask what the bat’s for, but please put it away.”

Ian signed some papers on a clipboard and the group of movers starting hauling it all in while Mickey stepped outside to take a breather. He was talking to himself and asking what the fuck was wrong with him. He knew they were coming tonight, what was the big deal? And it wasn’t even a bang, it was only a knock. The smallest jolt or unexpected noise always amplified itself in his head and his mind went from zero to sixty in half a second, immediately going to the worst-case scenario. Like Ian closing the drawer last night. It’s as if the logical part of his brain just shuts down when there’s a sound that shouldn’t be there.

There was another bang, again, only a knock, on the glass door making his body jump. It was Ian, motioning his hand for him to come back inside. Mickey mumbled something along the lines of, ‘Chill the fuck out’, to himself as he stepped back in.

“Help me put these on,” Ian grabbed the bag containing Lana’s stuff and handed Mickey Yev’s.

All Mickey could think about while they were setting everything up was how this room was made for these two. It was the perfect size for each bed to be on opposing walls with a window centered perfectly between them. There were two outlets distanced just right so the nightstands covered them, lamps plugged in on top. All that was left was a space between the stands, where Mickey put the unopened tub of Legos. He put the stuffed turtle in the middle of Yev’s bed, smiling at how good this kid was going to have it. He thought back to how he and Ian had grown up and the living situations they dealt with when they were Yev’s age and how he would do everything in his power to make sure his little boy was as happy as possible and had it better than them. Anything he could do, he would. 

The boy’s bed was covered with Michelangelo’s face, top to bottom, and Mickey just hoped he wouldn’t mind or that he had even the slightest clue who this fucking turtle was. If he didn’t… they’d be making another trip to the store. Because, again, anything to make Yev happy.

“Think I went a little overboard?”

“Nah,” Ian pulled his arm to bring the both back to the entryway, getting an overview of this room made for a queen and a prince, “they’re gonna love it. Way better than living above The Alibi or at your old place.”

Mickey nodded in agreement and took a second to be proud of himself for once. He had a plan before he was arrested. He was on the path to becoming a good parent and that was taken away from him within seconds. But, even as a fugitive, he was getting a second chance. He’d be able to get back on track and be the father he never had. He was doing well and would continue to do well and he let himself know it.

He got yanked out of his self-reflection with the reminder of why they did all of this, “Shit, we need to book your flight.”

“Already did it. Leaving at three on Wednesday.” 

A lump formed in Mickey’s throat, forcing him to swallow even though his mouth was dry. He knew what Ian leaving meant but two nights without him would mean two more nights of no sleep and that wasn’t something he was looking forward to, “Oh, okay.”

Mickey went into their room and fished out one of the picture frames from the bag sitting on their bed. He pulled the back off, put the picture of Yev against the glass, closed it back up and set it back on the little table. Maybe those two nights wouldn’t be that hard. 

He heard Ian open the fridge and rustle around in the drawers and then yell to him, “What’s for dinner?”

Quickly, he moved into the kitchen and pushed the door shut, coming scarily close to squishing Ian’s head had he not stood up as fast as he did from his squatted position, “Let’s go out.”

“Like a date?”

“Think it’s about time, don’t you?” Mickey grabbed his hand and started leading him toward the front door, “Not sure there’s a Sizzlers around here, but I got a place.”

It was a short drive to the restaurant with barely anyone in the parking lot because it was on the verge of closing for the night. They made their way into the building and picked a table on the balcony outside, sitting directly over the ocean. There were fairy lights hung overhead, candles lit on every table, quiet music playing in the background. They would never have been able to find anything close to this perfect in Chicago. Never.

“How’d you find this place? Bring all your other boyfriends here?”

“Too risky taking 'em all to the same spot,” Mickey relaxed back in his chair and just looked Ian over, how the tiny lights above them highlighted his face, “Nah, boss brings his wife here all the time. Had to drive ‘em home a couple times ‘cause the tequila’s kinda strong.”

A waitress who, thankfully, spoke clear English came over to take their orders and they sat in silence for a while after that, listening to the water crash on itself and admiring each other in disbelief that this is where they were. After years of pain and resistance, here they were; at a fancy ass restaurant, sitting above the ocean, sipping their beers, and loving each other openly and proudly. 

“Are you nervous about me leaving?”

Mickey shrugged and gnawed on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact, “I mean, yeah. There’s always a chance you won’t come back.”

Ian leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, “Do you really think I’d do that again? Honestly, Mickey, think about what you just said.”

“I don’t know, man,” Mickey rubbed his fingers over his forehead, thumb pressed into his temple, “You know I wanna believe you, it’s just kinda hard to after being left alone three fuckin’ times.”

There was tension in the air but it wasn’t too strong. It was more disappointment rather than anger or sadness. Ian had hurt Mickey and there were always going to be wounds that needed time to heal; needed attention and care. He didn’t know how long it would take for Mickey to trust him again, but he wasn’t about to give up before he gained it back.

The waitress interrupted them and brought their food and drinks, getting a thank you from both men in return. 

In-between bites, Ian changed the subject to something that would assure Mickey he was going to be coming back and that there was no need to worry, “You think they’re gonna like their room?” 

Mickey chewed and swallowed, “Yeah, just hope Yev likes turtles,” he let a laugh out through his nose and took another chug of his drink. “If he doesn’t we’re gonna have to redo his entire half of the room.”

“He’s your kid, he’ll love whatever you love.”

“Guess you two are gonna get along real well.”

Ian smiled so widely the corners of his mouth could’ve hit his ears, finishing off his plate, “Fuck, that was good.”

Mickey finished soon after and they had a debate over who was going to pay. Ian insisting that since he had been the one who originally wanted to go out on a date, he should pay. Mickey then brought up that this is today, not two years ago, and that he had been the one to take Ian out. It went on for a while, back and forth, until Ian eventually realized that he had no cash on him, forcing him to forfeit and let Mickey win the battle. 

They were home in no time flat, Ian’s hands clinging onto Mickey’s hips from behind, lips attached to the side of his neck. Mickey was exhausted from all the work they did today and didn’t understand how Ian could possibly be in the mood for this. Oh, that’s right. Alcohol. He unlocked the door, stepped in and turned a light on, involuntarily dragging his love with him. 

Ian continued sucking on his neck, leaving dark purple bruises that he’d have no way to cover at work tomorrow. Mickey just kept moving as if nothing was happening, hoping he’d get the hint and unlatch himself. He emptied his pockets on the kitchen counter and pulled Ian along into the bathroom, putting toothpaste on both brushes and holding one up under Ian’s nose, using the mint to grab his attention, “Brush your teeth.”

Ian detached himself and took the green brush, “What a lame date,” he was slurring his words and swaying on his feet, “dinner and no dessert?”

Mickey’s mouth was full of foam so he stayed quiet and just grinned. He paused the cleaning for a second and pulled the pills bottle out of the cupboard, pouring his nightly dose onto the counter. He looked at him who was now unable to speak too and tapped his wrist, telling him to hurry the fuck up.

Froth was spit, pills were swallowed, clothes were removed. Ian got into Mickey’s side of the bed because it was closest and flopped down, ending up sideways across the entire thing. 

Mickey went out into the main area of the house and checked each and every lock, grabbed his phone to set his alarm, then found himself in the doorway of Lana and Yev’s room. He looked at that Ninja Turtle bed and thought about how in only six short days, he’s be tucking his baby in. Telling bedtime stories. Kissing him goodnight. Six short days might actually be longer than he’d prefer. 

He doublechecked the lock on Lana and Yev’s window and turned the entryway light off. He started back into his room when he heard Ian snore, “Ian, c’mon,” he tapped his foot that was hanging off Mickey’s side of the bed, “move,” he got a single grunt as a response.

He put his phone on his nightstand and grabbed both of Ian’s feet and began rotating him to a normal position, “What the fuck?” 

“Get up, man, you’re in my fuckin’ way.”

Ian pulled himself up and under the covers, giving Mickey room to get in too, “I’m gonna be at work all day, you gonna be okay?”

“Mhm…” Ian reached over and pulled Mickey flush against his chest, “I’m really drunk.”

“I know,” he pushed back and let himself get wrapped up in Ian’s arms, falling asleep much quicker than last night. Feeling safe and being able to sleep felt better than words could ever describe. 

Days passed and Mickey worked while Ian stayed at home. He took advantage of the solitude, spending his time lathered in sunscreen, lounging on the sand by the water. Moments like that really made him question why he waited so long to get here and why he backed out to begin with. It was paradise.

Mickey told his boss that he’s be coming in late on Wednesday and that he needed Friday off, promising that things would be back to normal next week. He kept details to a minimum, only saying he had family visiting. Wasn’t a lie, but they weren’t just visiting. 

But now it was Wednesday and the time had come to part ways again. Mickey’s mood had shifted and Ian could tell he wasn’t feeling good about this whole situation. Breakfast was quiet, the car ride to the airport was even quieter.

Ian only took his backpack, leaving the rest of his other belongings at home. He hoped having all of his clothes in the closet would give Mickey some sense of safety knowing that his entire life was in Mickey’s hands and he had no other option than to come back, not that he wanted any other option.

The car was parked and they both sat in silence for a minute, neither wanting to separate themselves. Ian let Mickey take the lead and didn’t move until he did, only opening the passenger side door when the driver seat became vacant. 

They walked hand in hand into the airport. Mickey’s palms were sweating but Ian was almost positive it wasn’t from the heat. 

Mickey walked with him all the way to the security lanes, not letting his hand go, “Please don’t fuck this up,” he looked toward the ground and could feel the burn coming back into his eyes, wanting this to be over with. “Just remember everything I’ve taught you over the years, alright? One slip up and we’re all fucked.”

“Hey, look at me,” Ian grabbed Mickey’s face with both hands and tilted his head to look up at him, “I love you so much. And I will never let anything happen to you.”

The burn was in both of their eyes now, Mickey’s transforming into liquid, clouding his vision, “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” he used his thumb to wipe a tear off the high point of Mickey’s cheek, “but you’re gonna be okay. You’ve always been brave, you know that?”

He had only ever heard that word come from his mom when he was little, always called him her brave boy. Fearless and selfless, both brave qualities, even from such a young age, “You were too.”

“This isn’t about me, okay? This is about us putting Mickey first for once,” Mickey tried to move his head down, too embarrassed to keep eye contact, but Ian kept his grip firm. “We’re all in this together, Lana and Yev included. We’re gonna come back and everything will be fine. Three days, two nights. That’s it. Two nights.”

Mickey nodded and got pulled into Ian’s chest, check pressing hard against his security blanket, mimicking a muffled, “Two nights.”

Ian set his chin on Mickey’s head and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him close for as long as he could, “You’re strong, Mick. You can do this.”

He brought himself back and then pushed in to kiss Mickey. Much like how it was at the border, it was full of trust and passion, love and hunger. Lips persistent yet forgiving, like those tectonic plates had shifted themselves into place once more. 

The people surrounding them were watching and staring, but neither one cared. It didn’t matter. 

It ended too soon, but both were out of breath, “I’ll keep you updated on everything.”

Mickey just hugged him again, squeezing so tight, Ian’s eyes could’ve popped out of his head, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he kissed Mickey one more time on the forehead and hesitantly let go, walking backward toward the line of locals. “Two nights, Milkovich. You got this.”

Mickey took a seat against the wall under a window, still not able to leave Ian. His eyes were glued to his love, putting his backpack and shoes through the x-ray machine. Once he got through, he turned around again and blew a kiss. Mickey felt too numb to give one back.

He let himself cry for a few minutes when he got back into the car, hitting the steering wheel repeatedly and grumbling at himself for becoming so weak. This wasn’t who he wanted to be, but he couldn’t help it. He was dependent on this one person who kept leaving. Even if Mickey knew what was happening, it didn’t hurt any less. 

His phone started buzzing mid-swing, hand aimed at the wheel.

\- 2:43pm: i love you. just want you to know that

Mickey stared at his screen, reading those three little words over and over again. All he could reply with were the two words keeping him semi-together.

• 2:45pm: two nights

He finally got the energy to drive home to change into his coveralls and head to work. It was agonizingly slow, especially not being able to check his phone even though he felt it vibrating in his pants pocket under this adult onesie.

He stayed until they closed, not only to make up for the hours he missed in the morning, but he really did not want to be in that house alone again. Ian made it feel full and like a home, but stepping into a pitch black, empty place with no noise except the air conditioner and his own breathing? And knowing that he most definitely wouldn’t be sleeping tonight? He’d rather be at work. 

But, alas, he had to leave eventually. He turned on every single light in the house, and put a random channel on the T.V, volume up just enough to block out the deafening silence.

Eventually, he got his phone out and all the messages were from Ian. Shocking.

\- 3:02pm: miss you  
\- 7:23pm: landed. still miss you  
\- 7:40pm: please let me know you’re alive lol  
\- 7:59pm: in a cab going to your old place. feels weird without you  
\- 8:36pm: ok please answer me  
\- 8:39pm: nevermind i just remembered you’re at work. keep makin that $$$$  
\- 9:04pm: oh my god yev is your twin  
\- 9:04pm: i know we already covered that but i mean it’s real  
\- 9:07pm: here’s him in his pjs. told him to smile big for dad  
\- 9:08pm: also see what’s on his pants?  
\- 9:09pm: he’s so excited to see you. won’t stop talking about it  
\- 10:19pm: ok i know you’re off work now. are you dead? did yev kill you?  
\- 10:21pm: lana and iggy say hi. iggy’s pissed you didn’t come see him when you got out  
\- 10:23pm: but he’s letting us take that piece of shit you guys used to drive so no stealing!!!!  
\- 10:25pm: just gonna keep texting you til you replyyyyyyyy

He opened the picture of Yev and smiled but at the same time let out a laugh of relief. Michelangelo was covering this kid’s legs. He didn’t know how, but he’d have to get it printed. This house was gonna be covered in pictures of this boy before any of them knew it.

• 10:27pm: yes he did kill me  
\- 10:28pm: you’re gonna love him  
\- 10:28pm: did you get my present?

Mickey looked around the house and saw nothing, everything was as it was when they left this morning.

• 10:29pm: ? no  
\- 10:30pm: check the fridge

He put his phone on the coffee table and saw a piece of paper taped to the front of the door, a phone number written among a few words:

baby-  
call her  
love you

xoxo ian


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter than the other two. it's a transition chapter and they're apart from each other, as you know, so it's basically all text/phone conversations. next chapter will be back to normal, hope you enjoy!!! :)

Mandy. 

He pulled the note off the stainless steel and rubbed it between his thumb and index finger, reading over it like if he stopped staring it would disintegrate into thin air. He recognized the area code but the rest of her number was completely different than the one he had remembered and used to call when he was in the joint. Now it made sense why she never answered. 

Not knowing what to do with himself and this gift, he went back to the couch and grabbed his phone.

• 10:35pm: wtf…  
\- 10:36pm: :)  
\- 10:36pm: missed being in your old bed so much  
\- 10:36pm: still smells like you

Fuck, he missed it too. The house was dirty and unkempt but it was his home. His current house was undoubtedly nicer and he made sure to keep it clean, but that was because it wasn’t his. He came back to it every day after work, but it would never be his home, even if Ian, Lana and Yev were here. That place was filled with memories, more bad than good, but everything he knew took place there.

He was going over the layout of the house in his head, remembering every hole in the walls, every crack in the ceiling, every dead bug along the baseboards. When he mentally got to the bathroom, he remembered.

• 10:40pm: can you do me a favor??  
\- 10:40pm: do i have to get up  
• 10:40pm: yes  
\- 10:41pm: fine  
\- 10:41pm: what  
• 10:41pm: go to the bathroom  
\- 10:42pm: ok now what  
• 10:42pm: in the corner behind the sink  
\- 10:42pm: just a bunch of magazines  
• 10:43pm: yeah find the one about handguns  
\- 10:44pm: ok now what  
• 10:45pm: i swear to god if you laugh  
\- 10:45pm: i won’t  
\- 10:45pm: but you also won’t know if i do  
• 10:46pm: just look through the pages asswipe

The whole thing was embarrassing as fuck, but he needed it back. This was probably the last time anyone he was in contact with would be in that house and the thought of leaving it there to rot forever was sickening. Ian probably found it by now and Mickey’s stomach was twisting. He was taking too long.

• 10:50pm: ???  
\- 10:52pm: omg  
\- 10:52pm: you had a shrine for me :’)  
\- 10:52pm: i’m honored  
• 10:52pm: fuck off it’s one picture

Then his phone is ringing, a picture he took of Ian sleeping a few days ago flashing up on the screen, “Shut up.”

“What?” he sounded so arrogant, like he was the king of the god damn world because of that one picture.

Mickey knew this was a mistake. He could have lived without that picture, but it’s kind of hard to when having it with you and jacking off to it have been in the back of your mind since the day you got arrested, “I’ve had it for years, it’s not a big deal, man. Can you just bring it back, please?"

“Only ‘cause you asked so politely,” Ian was most definitely smiling on the other line, he could hear it in his voice. “You know, this isn’t even that great of a picture.”

“Do I gotta tell you to shut up again?”

“No, I mean I’m just looking at it and I don’t think I’ve ever even seen it before.”

Yeah, he was right, “I took it at that old ass abandoned building where we used to bang, remember? You told me to bring a camera to take a picture of the fuckin’ full moon or some shit but I didn’t have a camera so I stole one just to make you happy,” he paused for a moment and fell back, sinking into the white leather, “brought the camera back to the store the next day, ‘cause what the fuck did I need a camera for, but stole the memory card. Printed it out and kept it ever since.”

“Shit,” he let out a breathy laugh into the speaker, it was all coming back to him, “I remember that. We skipped out shifts at Kash 'n' Grab and stayed up there all day. It was the day after you got outta juvie for the… second time?” 

“Second time in there for your ass, yeah.”

“You wanted to kill my dad.”

“Uh, uncle, first of all,” they weren’t arguing, just bickering back and forth, both wishing they were doing this in person, not two thousand miles away from each other, “and I would’ve saved you and your entire family a fuck ton of trouble if I went through with it.”

“I always forget he’s my fuckin’ uncle and that Sammi’s my cousin, not my half-sister.”

“You got lucky, man. Only barely related to those piles of horse shit.” 

“Anyway,” Ian sighed into the phone, “I can take a new picture, this one’s pretty worn out, plus I was, what, sixteen?”

“Yeah, you were. No, I like that one,” he wanted to fill that empty frame and hang it on the wall right now, “but you can send a picture. Gonna need something to entertain me tonight.”

“Mick…” Ian’s tone shifted and he felt a lecture coming on, but it wouldn’t work. Nothing would help except Ian being here in the flesh, “You gotta sleep.” 

“We’ve been over this,” he scrubbed a flat palm across his forehead, “I can handle two nights without sleep. It’s nothin’, man, went on for weeks in prison.”

He heard Ian exhale like he was frustrated and his voice changed again, “Whatever, Mickey. I gotta go.”

“No,” his face brows were creased but kept himself calm, maybe he was just too tired to get riled up, “you don’t get to be mad at me about this.”

“I gotta be up early. Lots of driving.”

Mickey leaned forward on the couch and was beginning to feel sick, “No, what the fuck? Why are you mad at me?”

“I’ll text you in the morning. I love you.”

Before he could respond, the phone hung up. His mouth was hung open and dry, his stomach churning. What just happened? He was so confused; how the hell did that conversation go from reminiscing about old times to Ian being pissed at him for no reason? 

As if he wasn’t already mad enough at himself for this fucked up sleeping problem, Ian was now showing his angered feelings toward this issue that he couldn’t help.

He would probably regret this in a few hours, or minutes, but he had to get it off his chest.

• 11:02pm: if you’re gonna be mad at me or resent me for shit i can’t control then you can stay there. give lana the car and keep your ass in chicago or some shit cause i’m not about to have you live with me if you’re gonna act like a asshole

He legitimately felt like he was going to vomit. His heartrate had skyrocketed and the stinging had come back to his eyes, both from tiredness and tears. 

The room felt like it was getting smaller and smaller by the second, breathing was becoming harder. He stood up and started walking around the whole house, along the walls, trying to ground himself and stop his brain from spiraling. 

He used some of the techniques his Anger Management counselor had taught him years ago when he got sent to juvie for beating up a kid at school. When she told him what to do when he felt himself losing control, he barely listened to her at all. But now, when things like this happened or when his brain took over his body, pathetic as he may have thought it was, he tried. 

Breathing in through his nose, he steadily counted to ten in his head, then counted back down to one, releasing the air through his mouth.

He watched his feet move along the floor, continually breathing in and out trying to distract himself from what was going on in his head. Then a bang brought him out of his trance.

The bang was his phone buzzing on the coffee table, screen lit up with a text. He hesitated checking it, knowing he quite possibly could’ve fucked things up entirely and Ian could’ve taken him seriously and he could be left alone here for the rest of his life. His thoughts were, as usual, going downhill. And they were going fast. 

But, he did. He walked over and picked up the phone, pausing before pressing the home button to wake it back up.

\- 11:15pm: not mad. just wish i could help you

His shoulders relaxed and his rough breathing slowly started to subsided when more messages came through.

\- 11:16pm: we gotta get you to a doctor or therapist or something  
\- 11:16pm: i’m serious  
\- 11:16pm: something has to happen as much as you don’t want it to 

Although he didn’t want to admit it, he was right. He had been living like this for years, for as long as he can remember, and he was sick of it. This way of existing wasn’t satisfactory and it wasn’t what he wanted for himself; nothing in his life is what he wanted. Things weren’t supposed to be this way, not for him or Ian or both of them together. Things were supposed to get easier as they aged, as Ian got healthy, but now it was Mickey’s turn and it truly felt like they will never catch a break.

• 11:18pm: i’m good

He may have been right, but he wasn’t about to agree to getting meds or telling his life story to a stranger. No way in hell was he going to a therapist.

\- 11:18pm: mick…  
\- 11:18pm: i gotta sleep though  
\- 11:19pm: talk about it when we get back  
\- 11:19pm: please try to sleep :(  
\- 11:20pm: i love you ok? you’re not getting rid of me that easy  
• 11:20pm: love you too. i’m sorry  
\- 11:20pm: nothin to be sorry for  
\- 11:21pm: talk to you in the morning  
• 11:21pm: yep

God, he hated himself for all of this. 

By this time, he was back on the sofa, eyes now locked on that piece of paper connecting him to Mandy. He took it and programmed the number in his phone, unsure of when to use it or what to say. He figured he’d call in the morning instead of text right now. He needed to hear her voice, not just see words through a screen. 

Then the lonely night started. He watched T.V for a few hours until his eyes were hooded and struggling to stay open. He wanted to make Ian happy; be brave for him. So, he went to his room and pulled one of his love’s shirts out of the closet, picking the one that smelled most like him. He got into their bed alone, laid the shirt over a pillow, and pretended it was Ian. He felt so stupid, but being able to hold onto something with that same intoxicating scent made him feel a little more comfortable. 

He wrapped his arms around the flannel covered pillow and closed his eyes, letting them have a break after the dried-out burning faded out. He stayed awake until the sun came up and started seeping through his lids, but felt at least a tiny bit refreshed. 

He heard his phone buzzing out in the living room and dragged himself out of bed, hanging Ian’s shirt back up first. 

\- 6:32am: morningggg  
\- 6:32am: packing the car up. yev’s bouncing off the walls he wants to see you so bad

Mickey couldn’t help but smile. Last night was rough but knowing they’d all be together tomorrow made it feel a little better.

• 6:33am: morning. tell him i wanna see him too  
• 6:33am: send me pics all day  
\- 6:35am: he’s ready. cheesin so hard

There he was, sitting in his car seat, buckled and ready to go. He was still wearing his Mikey pajamas, smiling so wide at the camera that his eyes were squeezed into only slits and his hands were clasping onto a green, plush turtle ball with an orange mask. This kid was most definitely Mickey’s.

• 6:37am: wtf why is he so cute  
\- 6:38am: um you’re his dad???

He started a pot of coffee and leaned back against the counter, wishing they were all here. This house was too god damn quiet.

\- 6:40am: wanted me to record him singing

Yev was flailing his arms and legs, feet hitting the back of the passenger seat in the process when he started belting out, “TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES!” he was loud enough to almost blow out the speaker on Mickey’s phone that was unknowingly set to full volume, “TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES! TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES! HEROES IN A HALF SHELL! TURTLE POWER!”

Ian was laughing in the background making Yev laugh too, “Say hi to your dad!”

“Hi, dad! Ian said you like Ninja Turtles like me.”

“Say… Can’t wait to see you!”

Like a robot, Yev repeated in the same high-pitched manner, “Can’t wait to see you!”

Ian turned the camera onto himself, “Miss you, baby. See you soon.”

Mickey’s life might be a mess, but he’d be lying if he didn’t feel like the luckiest man in the world.

• 6:45am: love you guys so much

The coffee was done and he poured his first cup of many to come. It was early, but he was starting to consider calling Mandy. His moved around on his phone until his thumb was hovering over the call button, almost touching it. Would she be up at seven o’clock in the morning? If he called, would she be with a client? That word made him sick. It just brought him back to robbing old men with Ian, disgusted by the fact that pedophiles were getting away with that shit. But Mandy wasn’t Ian. She’s a grown woman who’s capable of making her own decisions. Even if those choices were dangerous and stupid, he couldn’t interfere. 

He was so close to tapping the screen, but clicked out of the contacts app instead. Another message popped up.

\- 6:47am: lol he just asked why i called you baby  
\- 6:47am: feel like we all need to be together to give him an answer  
• 6:48am: think he’ll ever call you dad?  
\- 6:48am: hope so. kinda think papa’s more fitting or daddy ian  
• 6:49am: thought that second one was for me? kid’s already stealing my damn spotlight  
• 6:50am: gotta go to work. keep me updated. love you

Never in a million years did he think he would look forward to going to work, but this is where he was. He would go before they even opened to get out of this silent, unoccupied house just to have things to focus on that aren’t his own issues; fill his mind with other people’s problems.

He put his greasy-ass coveralls on, did his daily rounds of checking the window locks, grabbed his essential needs, and headed to his second escape; Ian being the first.

Work was slow. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours, hours were days. The only thing keeping him sane were Ian’s updates letting him know where they were or how many times they had to stop to pee. Lana was sending him videos every so often of Ian driving or Yev sleeping or just the road passing by, anything to keep him in the loop; let him know they’re safe. 

They had made it to St. Louis by the time Mickey had finished fixing the brakes on a car and could step out of the shop for a while. He went and sat in his car, door open, left foot hanging out, with his uniform unbuttoned and pulled down to his waist to prevent having a god damn heatstroke and called Ian, “Hey.”

“Hey!” there was a lot of noise in the background, plates clanging, kids screaming, “Whatcha doing?”

“Takin’ a break. Where the fuck are you, why is it so loud?”

“We’re at Denny’s.”

Mickey fumbled around in the glove box and fished out a cigarette, lit up, and took a long drag of the body-numbing nicotine, muffling the speaker with the smoke, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, hold on, Yev wants to talk to you.”

There were only miscellaneous sounds for a moment before a young voice flowed into his ear, “Hello?”

“Hey, bud, what’s up? You havin’ breakfast?”

“I got banana pancakes, they’re my favorite.”

Mickey animatedly gasped back, “No WAY, those are my favorite too.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yeah huh. I’ll make you the best banana pancakes you’ll ever have.”

Yev giggled back into the phone and Mickey could hear him chewing before he spoke back with a mouthful of his sugar-filled breakfast, “Am I gonna meet you tomorrow?”

“Yep, tomorrow night. I can’t wait to see you.”

He could tell the kid was still eating by the lack of response, “Alright, well, I’m gonna let you finish, okay? Can you give the phone back to Ian?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you.”

There was some scratching and the clattering softened momentarily, “Sorry, he got syrup all over my phone.”

Mickey threw the butt of his cigarette onto the dusty, desert ground and crushed it with his foot, “It’s cool.”

“You sound tired.”

“Not gonna do this with you again, man,” he knew he sounded irritated but he was sweating and, yes, tired and not feeling up to talking about his issues over the phone, “I gotta go. Gonna call Mandy.”

“Alright,” Ian was defeated, “One more night. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And both lines went dead. 

His scrolled through his contacts and found Mandy’s number. His stomach was in knots and his forehead was still wet, but now for a different reason not caused by the sun. He tapped the screen and held the phone up to his ear, focusing on his breathing.

The last time they talked was the day she left for Indiana, must to his defiance. He had begged for her to stay, asked Ian to have his brother try to keep her here, but nothing worked. She was gone and soon he was in prison, unable to contact each other until now. The ringing stopped and she picked up.

“Hello?”

Mickey’s mouth went dry and his mind blank, losing all capabilities to form a coherent sentence or any words at all.

“Hello? Who the fuck are you?”

He was trying to think of something to say, but it was like his brain had disappeared and left him with a vacant skull. His mouth was moving, lips coming together then tearing apart, but nothing was coming out.

“Whatever, go fuck yours-“

“Mandy?”

Both went quiet, only breathing was heard on each end. Mickey felt like he was gonna puke, he knew he would for sure if she hung up.

“Mickey?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, still only able to create one word responses, “Yeah.”

“What the hell? How’d you get my number?”

“Ian.”

“The fuck happened to you?”

Was there any easy way to answer that? How was he supposed to sum up the last two years of his life? “A lot.” 

“No shit, douchebag. Had to hear about my brother escaping outta prison on the news? What the fuck were you thinking?”

She sounded pissed and he genuinely thought he might vomit right outside of his car. This wasn’t how he thought their first interaction would happen, but then again, nothing in their lives had ever been rainbows and butterflies, so why would this be any different?

“You weren’t there, Mands,” he sounded more vulnerable and sincere than he wanted to, “it was a buncha bullshit.”

“What do you mean?” her voice became much quieter, less harsh.

“Sent me to prison for fifteen fucking years for shit I didn’t even do. Said I attempted to kill Ian’s bitch of a cousin when they had no evidence at all.”

“Did you really not do anything or are you just saying that?”

“Bitch called the MPs on Ian, got him sent to prison for a few days. I drugged her just to scare her, I didn’t plan on her to temporarily stop having a goddamn pulse so I put her in a moving crate. All they had on me was a fingerprint so I told the judge I was helping her move but with my record… You can put the rest together yourself.”

Mandy sighed into the microphone, “Fuck. Did you have a lawyer?”

“Shitty-ass fresh outta college public defender. Couldn’t do a thing for me except tell me he’d ‘try his best.’ He had the case in the bag if he would’ve cared at all, there was nothing to convict me on. Nothing.”

“And Ian didn’t help?”

Mickey laughed and let his head fall back onto his car’s headrest, “Nah. Broke up with me like five seconds before the cunt started chasing after me with a gun. All he did was stand there and watch me run away.”

“What a fucking dick. That’s not like him at all.”

“Messed me up for a long time. He only visited me twice, once to tell me he wasn’t gonna get me a lawyer and another because Lana paid him to come.”

It was like she was now at a loss for words, “Jesus. Wait, how did he give you my number if you guys broke up?”

Understandable question. Not so understandable answer, “He’s living with me.”

“You took him back?”

“Yeah,” he didn’t have to explain, she knew how much they loved each other, “You missed a lot. I miss you.”

There was a comfortable stillness, “Where are you?”

“Uh…” he wanted her to come there eventually so he figured there was no point in lying, “by the beach.”

“The beach? Where, Jersey?”

“No,” he found another stray cigarette and lit it up, holding his phone between his shoulder and ear, “Mexico,” trying to make light of a shitty situation, he dragged out the ‘o’.

But she didn’t seem to think it was too funny, “You’re fuckin’ with me.”

“Nope. Wanna come down? Gotta house and everything. Ian’s actually driving back here right now, just went to pick up Lana and Yev.”

“They’re coming to live with you? What universe are we in, who am I talking to?”

Mickey laughed and threw the rest of his second cancer-stick onto the ground. His whole body was covered in sweat and he needed to end this; get back into the air-conditioned shop, “You’re free to come down here whenever you want. Get a passport, fly down. Don’t gotta stay, but it’d be nice to see you.”

“I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” he let himself smile and let out a sigh of relief, “I gotta get back to work, though.”

“You work?”

“I just told you I have a house and have three other people living with me, how the fuck do you think I pay the bills, huh?”

“Still a pimp?”

“Mechanic. Learned it all it the joint. I really have to go though, break’s over. Keep in touch, okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Alright. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He locked his phone once the lines were dead and hopped out of his car, zipping up his uniform again, almost suffocating from the lack of air on his skin. 

There was a sense of liberation after that call. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders; a dark cloud hovering over his head turned to sun. 

The rest of the day passed by faster than any day prior. Maybe it was because it was his last day of work for the week and that he’s see his little family tomorrow or maybe it was because there was so much work to be done, he couldn’t focus on anything but fixing transmissions and engines and changing oil, etc., etc. 

He clocked out after everyone else had left, still not wanting to go home alone. He went to the only store open at that hour and picked up some more beer, a pack of cigarettes, and a variety of fruit. He strongly believed in his ‘if I eat fruit I can fuck up my liver and lungs’ mindset, and acted on it daily. 

Texts from Ian were still pouring in, his phone buzzing constantly in his pocket. He didn’t look at them till he got home, making multiple trips to his car and back inside, piling the bags of food on the kitchen counter. 

So many pictures of Yev, Lana sent some selfies and pictures of Ian’s side profile. Videos of them singing to the radio, more like yelling over each other, but singing nonetheless. Updates on when they stopped to eat or pee and letting him know whenever they made it to another major city.

He put the groceries away, changed into his pajamas and found himself back on the couch, probably glued to it for the night.

• 10:47pm: miss you guys  
• 10:47pm: home now, can you facetime??

His phone started ringing, with a new photo illuminating the screen. He had changed the contact picture to one of him and Yev, both smiling like their lives depended on it. Somehow, he saw some of Ian in Yev. Like being raised by him when Mickey couldn’t face him had some impact on him, not only within his personality but physically as well. 

Ian was shirtless and sitting in what seemed to be a desk chair in a hotel room, “Can’t be too loud. Yev’s sleeping. Those pancakes this morning gave him a fuckin’ sugar rush then he had a bunch of fast food garbage for dinner, wore him out,” he was whispering and then stood up, walking back to one of the beds and aiming the camera at a tiny lump under the sheets. “See? A little angel like his dad.”

“I’m not little.”

The both smiled through their respective cameras and Ian sat back down, “Got the angel part right, though.”

“Where’s Lana?” Mickey’s legs were sticking to the leather so he moved to the thermostat, setting it to a temperature usually found outside in Chicago during the winter.

“Shower.”

“Talked to Mandy.”

“What’d she say?” Ian balanced his phone on its side so he could lean back, bouncing the back of the chair back and forth.

“Not much,” he grabbed a beer from the fridge and attached himself back to the sofa, “said she might get a passport. Told her she’s welcome here any time.”

“Mhm…” Ian was sort of rocking himself to sleep, eyes heavy. 

“Don’t think she’s too happy with you, though.”

Ian stopped moving and opened his eyes, leaning forward with his arms on the table, “Why would you say that?”

“Asked what happened with the whole prison thing and if you helped, I said no.”

“Why did you say no?”

Nonchalantly, Mickey replied, “’Cause you didn’t.”

“Why do we fight like this every time we’re on the phone?”

The creases in Mickey’s brows became prominent and he took a sip of his drink, “We’re not fighting?” 

Ian hung his head down, forehead almost hitting the table, “I know. Sorry, m’just tired.”

“Yeah, me too. I’m still really sorry about what I said last night, you know I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”

Mickey chugged the rest of his beer then burped which transformed into a yawn in the same movement, “We got a shit ton of driving to do tomorrow. You should probably sleep.”

“Not gonna say anything…”

“Probably a smart move,” they both laughed and just watched each other on their screens. "By the way, I just realized we’re gonna be back here on Saturday instead of Sunday like we thought so we’ll have a day to unwind.”

“That’s good.”

“Gonna let you go, though. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“One more night. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Mickey shut off his phone and was left in silence again. Ever since Ian came back, it was harder for him to fight the tiredness, like his body just gave up trying and made him weaker in yet another way. He was very, very tired right now. Yawning nonstop, so much that tears were forming in his eyes. 

He shut everything off after doing his nightly lock check and went back to his room, pulling the same flannel shirt out of the closet and spreading it over a pillow. He closed his eyes and breathed in Ian’s smell with only static filling his ears. 

He thought about how his life would completely change tomorrow. Tomorrow was the first day of the rest of his life. 

Tomorrow, he’s becoming a dad. 

His eyes remained locked until the sun came up. It was probably too early to leave, but he grabbed a couple of bananas, a bottle of water, his phone, wallet, etc., and got in his car. He couldn’t stand to be alone in that house for another second.

It was an eight-hour drive for him, eight hours of listening to music and reading texts from Lana from Ian’s phone. 

His butt was numb and legs were sore by the time he got to the hotel. He booked a room, using an alias, with two queen-sized beds and texted Ian the address, then was told they were only two hours away. 

As they approached the border, Mickey felt his anxiety spiking again, with no way to help himself but to walk around the perimeter of the room, keeping his breathing steady and trying to focus on anything other than his Ian and Lana getting caught and Yev going into the system at only four years old and it would all be his fault. His mind was spiraling. 

His phone buzzing on the bed jerked him out of the fog.

\- 4:22pm: made it over the border!!!!  
\- 4:22pm: told them we were on our first family vacation  
\- 4:22pm: showed them yev in the back seat, let us in no problem

He was worrying for nothing.

• 4:24:pm: !!!!!!!!! see you soon

So, he waited. And waited. And waited. And watched T.V. And starred out the window, butterflies in his stomach. There was nothing to be nervous about when it came to Ian and Lana, he knew them. But Yev? He had no idea who this kid was. Over the past two days, he learned that he loves Ninja Turtles and banana pancakes, just like him. He learned about how he can spell his own name and count to twenty and knows the TMNT theme song like the back of his hand. But what his child was like when they would be just hanging out, father and son? All new undiscovered territory. 

The hours passed like years and he couldn’t take watching the parking lot from his window anymore, so he headed down to wait outside. The sun was setting but the sky was still lit up with orange and pink clouds, covering everything on the ground with a layer of color only found at this time of day. 

Cars continued to pull in and drive right by him, parking and unloading, stretching after traveling for so long. He was getting ready to call Ian and ask where the fuck he was when that piece of shit car hauled in with Ian and Lana both waving out the windows. 

It was like time turned slow-motion as he watched Ian put the car in a space, albeit crooked and rushed, and he stepped out, running to him and taking his body his arm, wrapping them around Mickey’s neck, forcing him close. Mickey gripped his hands onto Ian’s hips and breathed in.

Ian leaned his head back then went in again, this time crashing their lips together. It was simple, no tongue, just solid and capable of reminding him how lucky they were to have each other. Mickey pulled away and let their foreheads rest together, whispering, “Fuck, I missed you.”

Their arms switched positions, Mickey’s going around Ian’s shoulders and Ian’s around Mickey’s stomach, both of their faces pressed tightly in the crook of their lover’s neck. 

“Enough.”

A stern, irritated, Russian voice came from behind Ian and Mickey looked up, seeing Lana in all her glory.

“You two can rub your dicks together later.”

She came and yanked Mickey away, imposing a hug on him, “Hey, Lana. Missed you too.”

They were swaying back and forth, staying in their overly warm, sweaty embrace, and Mickey was about to let go when there was a smack to the back of his head, “Ow! What the fu-“

“You are stupid fucking idiot.”

“Excuse me?” he rubbed his skull with his hand, face scrunched up in pain.

But, before she could continue, there was a little body emerging from the back seat of the car and the footsteps became louder as he got closer and closer to the three adults. 

He hid behind Lana peaked his head out from behind her thigh.

“Daddy?”


	4. Chapter 4

The voice came out of the tiniest body so quietly, Mickey was barely able to register where it was coming from. He looked down at Lana’s legs and his eyes locked with his four-year-old twin. It was like all the air in his lungs was released with one final breath and he couldn’t manage to make his diaphragm contract to let more oxygen in. 

He was stuck in place, frozen, until there was a heated hand on his shoulder and words being whispered into his ear, “Go say hi. He doesn’t bite.”

Mickey squatted down to Yev’s level and rested his elbows on his thighs, hands hanging between them, “He-“

Before he could finish his introduction, the boy was bolting toward him and hugged him so hard that Mickey lost his balance and fell backwards onto the concrete. It was like his dad instincts kicked in at the exact moment when he used both arms to catch his kid instead of using them to prevent himself from bashing the back of his head into the ground, which is exactly what happened. 

It hurt. A lot. But with these itty-bitty arms wrapped around his neck and the feather-light body lying on top of his chest, the pain didn’t seem too important. 

“Yev, get off him,” Lana grabbed him under his armpits and tried to detach him, but he just shook his head and tightened his grip, almost putting Mickey into a chokehold. 

“You gonna let me up?” Mickey was rubbing a hand up and down the small area of Yev’s back, hoping that would bring the kid back into reality, but all it got him was another shaking head in the crook of his neck. “We’re just gonna stay on the ground forever, huh?” the shaking turned into nodding, “Alright, well, Ian and your mom are gonna go have dinner but we’ll stay here, I guess.”

That finally got Yev to lift his head up and look up to his two other parents, “Bye!”

The three adults started smiling and laughing, all amused by this little boy’s wit that he most certainly inherited from his dad. Mickey held one arm up in Ian’s direction, “Help me up.”

Keeping one hand secured on his son’s back to make sure he didn’t slip, Mickey let Ian pull them both up until he was back on his feet, Yev’s legs now wrapped around his waist. 

They were all too tired to grab any bags, knowing they were only staying a night and leaving early in the morning. They left all the suitcases that contained the of the lives of the two newest family members locked in the car and headed back upstairs and back into their room, Lana flopping down on the bed.

Mickey was standing with his back against the wall, trying to let his shoulders relax from being in the same position for a while, “Can I put you down, bud? My arms are falling asleep,” Yev’s hold around his neck just got snugger and his shimmied his legs further up Mickey’s midriff, feet locking at the small of his dad’s back, head tilted with his cheek flush against his shoulder.

Ian stood up from watching the pair placed a hand on Yev, the room quiet with only Lana’s breathing and a soft whistle coming from her nose, clearly in dreamland. He leaned into Mickey’s ear, breath hot against his already sweaty skin, “Why don’t guys stay here, I’ll go get some food.”

He got a calm nod in return and made their temporary goodbye kiss quick and sweet, trying not to overwhelm Yev. Even if his head was turned away, hearing the guy who had become his new best friend over the past couple days kiss his dad might be a little much to take in.

Ian left them alone and Mickey moved to sit on the desk chair in the corner. He folded the kid’s legs so they weren’t bending the wrong way and Yev let himself slip a little to sit right on his dad’s lap, hands still clasped behind his neck. He started rocking back and forth, slowly and consistently, knowing he, just like one of his dads, was overtired and fading into their respective slumbers.

This was heaven. Holding his tired baby, lulling them both into a hazy state of mind. His fingers were interlocked behind said baby’s back to keep him close to his chest. He knew Yev and finally crossed over into sleep when his arms gave out, dropping to Mickey’s waist. 

Mickey forced his heavy eyes open and looked down and what he thought would never exist. This little, sleepy boy with this cheek pressed to Mickey’s chest, his mouth parted while listening to his dad’s heartbeat was something that never seemed possible for him. He never imagined being able to hold his son like this, to have such an immediate connection with someone who had no memory of ever meeting him. Someone who he, at one point, couldn’t even bring himself to look at, let alone be snuggled by in such a peaceful setting. 

He thought about getting up, lying Yev down next to his mom and having a cigarette, but it was like his body was numb; wrapped in the warmth and comfort of a miniature equivalent of Ian. How this boy was capable of calming him just like his love was, he’d never know, but it didn’t matter. 

His eyes fell closed again, still rocking in this painful-ass chair as if it was one you’d find in a nursery. Yev would twitch or shift in his sleep, making Mickey become alert and strengthen his embrace, only causing the boy to nuzzle his head further into the shirt clad skin, muffling his dad’s heart. 

As usual, when he let himself relax and enjoy where he was for half a second, there was a bang on the door. It shook Mickey back into reality and he completely entrapped Yev against him with both arms. His breathing became heavy as he watched the handle start to giggle then open. Ian walked in, hands occupied by plastic grocery bags. He figured the bang had only been the key clicking after being slid into the lock. Tiny, unwarranted noise was amplified. Again.

“He asleep?”

Mickey barely nodded, and let his arm muscles relax, careful not to violently disrupt the child more than he already had with his brief wave of panicking anxiety. Ian tried his best to put the bags of potato chips and breakfast pastries on the T.V stand as gently as possible, face scrunching up when all the different variations of plastic began crunching. It triggered both sleepers, one rolling over onto her right side to face the wall, the other curling his tiny fingers into fists and squeezing them between his own chest and Mickey’s.

Ian tiptoed over and kissed Yev on the head, Mickey on the lips before whispering, “Dad looks good on you.”

He sighed back, “I am so uncomfortable.”

He moved his forearm under his son, so the boy was sitting on it, using light fingertips from his other hand to keep Yev’s head against him. His back cracked as he stood up, spine curved forward to do the least amount of damage by keeping Yev steady. 

The kid was limp, almost like a doll. Mickey stepped unhurriedly toward Lana’s bed and Ian was right behind him, pulling the covers back. He gradually lowered Yev down onto the mattress as if he was a newborn baby being placed into a crib. Mickey brought the sheets up to his chest and both dads kissed him on the forehead, fingers lingering along Yev’s cheeks in admiration. 

Mickey stayed looking at his son, unsure how something this pure came from such a messy, traumatic event that still causes problems in Mickey’s life, even to this day. He heard plastic scratching again and then Ian murmuring, “Come on.”

He stepped away from the bed and followed Ian, “You got the key?” the back of Ian’s head moved up and down.

They ended up outside, back in the parking lot. The sun had set, the sky now black and freckled with stars. Both slid down the side of the building to sit on the ground, directly in front of where their cars were parked, not caring that they couldn’t see much around them.

Ian popped open the bag of chips and Mickey lit up a cigarette for them to share. It was quiet, dark and warm, the scents of barbecue Lays and Ian mixing together and drowning his senses, “Shoulda got Pringles.”

Shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, they sat in a comfortable silence, eating chips and sharing their cancer stick. 

“I saw what you did when I opened the door.”

“So?” he handed the cig back to Ian and watched his throat as he inhaled another long drag, 

Ian kept his eyes forward, blowing smoke into the air, thick with humidity, “So… I don’t like it.”

Like Mickey did? Living with the crippling, irrational fear of being taken back to prison was no walk in the park and he understood that it must be hard for Ian to see him like this all the time, but as difficult as it was for Ian, it was a hundred times tougher for Mickey. He had been in Ian’s situation before and never wanted to be back there again; watching the one person you love do nothing but hate himself and struggle to come to terms with his issues. He knew how he felt, “Neither do I,” Mickey let his body fall sideways onto Ian, using his shoulder as a pillow, “But I’m not going to the doctor.”

A long breath escaped Ian’s lips, like Mickey had beat him to the punch, “I don’t get why you’re so against just talking to a fuckin’ therapist when you literally sent me to a hospital.”

Before his mind could filter the words, they slipped out, “I’m not doin’ pornos and stealin’ babies.”

Without saying anything, Ian got up and started walking back to their room, shaking his head as he went. “Ian-“ Mickey grabbed the chips and stood up as fast as he could, “Fuck- Ian!”

He ran to catch up with him, barely making it through the opened key-activated door and continued trailing behind Ian, short legs trying hard to stay at the same pace as Ian’s, “Listen, I’m sorry.”

They got to the room and Ian stalled before sliding the key into the lock, his forehead stuck to the barricade between them and their family, “Just go with me. Once.”

Mickey leaned against the opposite wall, with only a view of Ian’s back. He didn’t know what he was so afraid of. They go sit in a room together, chick asks them questions, he keeps his mouth shut, they go home. Seems harmless, but terrifying at the same time. Ian would probably babble on and on about their past and could potentially slip up. Shit could turn sour if anything was said that could lead a stranger to question who they are or where they came from.

“I really don’t think I need to go, man.”

That got Ian to turn around and lean on his own wall, arms crossed over his upper body, “Yeah, and I didn’t think I needed to take my meds.” 

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Look, I’m not gonna force you to go, but I just think it’s pretty sad that you’ll help me but not yourself.”

They remained in the hallway, draped with silence and a minor amount of tension. There would have to be conditions and boundaries about what they would mention, who they would talk about and how far back they would go. There was shit that could possibly be brought up in these sessions that Mickey hadn’t even told Ian. Shit that has been buried deep inside him for upwards of fifteen years. Just the thought of spilling his whole life story to a stranger made Mickey’s heart beat faster, but he figured that that was the problem. He needed to open himself up and become vulnerable. He needed to get these memories out of his system. 

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Ian turned back around and unlocked the door quietly, pressing the handle down and pushing forward. They walked in and set everything they had taken with them outside on the T.V stand and undressed down to just their boxers and wife beaters. 

It seemed as though Lana had woken up at one point, seeing as she, too, was under the covers with her baby. It looked like she moved Yev as well, he was further up the bed, his head closer to the wall but still on his own pillow. 

They climbed into their own bed and Mickey let himself get tangled up in Ian’s arms, breathing a sigh of relief. He thought about how these limbs are capable of so much. Saving lives, including Mickey’s, is their greatest talent. 

The family of four slept soundly throughout the night, Ian being the first to wake. Head to toe, his whole body was laced with sweat. He kissed Mickey’s shoulder, hoping to bring him back to earth peacefully rather than abruptly, “Hey.”

Still, the slight disturbance jolted Mickey awake, body tensing up, immediately going into defense mode.

“Shh... Relax, it’s just me.”

Mickey groaned and loosened his muscles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “What?”

“We gotta get goin’.”

Ian got up and put his day-old clothes back on, Mickey repeating. They took a few minutes to open the muffins and Raisin Snails that Ian had bought the night before, eating while watching Lana and Yev continue to sleep. 

“Here,” Ian held both sets of car keys out in Mickey’s direction, “go turn the A.C on. I’ll get them up and be down in a minute,” Mickey stuffed the rest of his breakfast in his mouth and hummed in response, stealing the keys out of Ian’s palm.

He headed back down to the cars, thankful to find that they were still in one piece after a night in a not-so-safe part of the country. Although, one car wouldn’t be wanted by anyone, even around here. It survived years in the shittiest parts of Chicago, this move would be a breeze.

The A.C in his old car barely worked, just little puffs of lukewarm air came from the vents. His car, however, felt like an igloo within minutes. He sat in the driver seat of the icebox and checked his phone for the first time in hours. There was a text from Mandy saying she applied for a passport and that she should be ready to come down in about three months. Three months seemed like an eternity to see his baby sister again, and was also a decent amount of time to get hurt and never get to come and see him again. No. He was not about to spiral.

His hair was getting blown back from the ice-cold air being pumped directly toward his face, and then he heard his name being yelled. 

Ian was standing at their window yelling toward him, flailing his arms trying to get Mickey’s attention.

“What?” Mickey mouthed back and scrunched his face up, using his facial expressions to his advantage.

Ian fanned his hand toward him rapidly, visually instructing him to get his ass back in their room.

“Fuck,” Mickey turned the car off, got out and turned the other’s ignition off as well before walking back to his family, mumbling and grumbling under his breath on the way.

Ian was waiting in the doorway, leaning diagonally across it, picking at the skin on his nails, “What? We gotta go.” 

That got Ian’s attention, “He thinks you left,” he moved out of the way to give Mickey a good view of Yev sitting in Lana’s lap, bawling his eyes out. Face red with tear stained cheeks, barely able to catch his breath. She was rocking him back and forth, repeatedly telling him his dad was outside but he was too hysterical to listen.

“Jesus Christ, it’s like lookin’ in a fuckin’ mirror.”

Yev heard him and instantly jumped from where he was sat on his mom and ran over to his dad. He hugged around Mickey’s legs, face awkwardly pressed against his crotch, “Hey, bud, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he let his hands run through his son’s hair, pushing the stray, bedhead strands off his forehead.

“I- I thought you- you left,” he was gasping for air, tears still falling.

Mickey crouched down to be at Yev’s level and turned the kid to face him, “Hey, look at me,” he grabbed his face with both hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the streaks of salty water, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’re stuck with me forever.”

Yev pushed his face through the hold on his face and squeezed around Mickey’s neck and his dad picked him up again. It was as if he was suctioned to Mickey’s body, like if he let go, Yev wouldn’t go anywhere. He was stuck on his dad in more ways than one, and they were never going to be ripped apart.

“And you,” he tipped his chin to Lana. “You gonna tell me why you called me a stupid fu-“ he paused, remembering the child with an ear right by his mouth, “a stupid idiot yesterday?” 

The three adults gathered in the hallway, Ian closing the door. Mickey and Lana went one way, toward the parking lot, Ian went the opposite, to the front desk to return the keys, “You escape without telling me. We made good money with you in there.”

“You mean I made you good money. Gettin’ a few bucks put in my commissary account doesn’t do much.”

Ian jogged back across to them, breathing hardly affected, “Ready?”

“Yeah. You’re ridin’ with me.” He tried to detach Yev, but he just held on tighter, “C’mon, Yev, you gotta ride with mom.”

“Nooooo, I wanna go to your house.”

“Alright, you can stop with the whining,” he said it with no anger, almost in a teasing tone, and tickled Yev’s sides, getting the kid to weaken his grip. “You’re gonna come to my place, you just have to go with mom, ‘kay?” he was finally able to set him back on the ground, although it didn’t last long before Yev moved his hug to Mickey’s right thigh. 

“Come, Yev,” Lana tried pulling him off Mickey, but the kid was strong as hell, causing her to almost make them both topple forward, “Yev.”

“No, I wanna go with daddy.”

Mickey just rolled his eyes and exhaled. He loved being wanted, but the whining was going to be hard to get used to. He looked at Ian, clearly not wanting to say no, and before he could anything came out of his mouth, the younger man was opening the door to the backseat, pulling the car seat out, “Yev can ride with you, I’ll go with Lana.”

“I don’t like this,” Lana’s face was hard and stern, body tense.

“You guys are gonna be following right behind me, it’ll be fine,” he looked down at his son who was looking right back up at him and ruffled his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Ian switched the seat into Mickey’s car like he had been a dad for years, not struggling at all, “Okay, come on, get buckled.” 

Yev finally let go of his dad and heaved himself into the now hot car, fastening his clips across his tiny chest and connecting them between his legs like a pro. 

Mickey hugged his partner and baby momma as they went their separate ways. Ian took the driving position so Lana could keep a close eye on Mickey, even from a completely separate vehicle. 

They drove away from the hotel and got on the freeway, accepting that the desert was all they would be seeing for the next nine hours. 

He spent a lot of the time looking in the rearview mirror, talking to his son the whole time. Having him sing and recite his ABCs again, counting and teaching him all the numbers he didn’t know up to fifty. He lost track of how many times they sang the TMNT theme song after twenty, but he didn’t mind. This was everything. Him and his mini-me backseat driver just cruising down the road, singing and learning. He thought about how he had known this kid for a little over twelve hours and yet he was already a better dad than Terry ever was. Would Terry have ever taught his kid how to spell ‘banana’ using a Gwen Stefani song as mnemonic device? No way in hell. 

Four hours in, Yev fell asleep, head slumped to the side, basically begging for a neck kink. Mickey didn’t care, though. He had slept last night and was refreshed with quiet music playing through the speakers. He made sure to dodge potholes and any unevenness in the road, but he may have done it one too many times and his phone came alive in the passenger seat.

\- 1:27pm: this is mother of your child. are you driving drunk?

He pursed his lips, creased his brow and locked it again, tossing it to where it came from, originally. 

They stopped a couple times for snacks or to pee, taking their sweet time stretching the legs whenever possible. Mickey gave Yev a shit-ton of sugar to keep him company for the rest of the drive, which worked surprisingly well and, in turn, kept him awake too.

Mickey finally pulled into the driveway, Ian parking right beside him. Yev unbuckled himself and hopped out, seeing sand and hearing the ocean for the first time in his life. He ran up to the front door, waiting for his three parents to catch up with him. He was met with Mickey first, and his dad opened the door, letting him into the cooled, dark house. It smelled like oranges. 

The other two parents soon followed behind and breathed in the icy air, after nine hours of sitting in a hot, metal, death trap that doesn’t even deserve to be called a car.

“How do you afford this?”

Lana walked around the living room, and checked out all the little details of Mickey’s house. The pictures hung on the wall, the decorative curtains covering the sliding glass door, the pillows that contrasted against the couch but went with the rest of the décor. All the things that she never expected from a hard, angry guy from Southside, Chicago. This was her home now. 

“Boss’ place.”

“Where will we sleep?”

“Coolest room in the whole house!” he raised his voice gradually, looking at Yev and building up excitement, “Come see.”

The family of four all walked to the door and let the kid be the first to walk into his new sanctuary. Mickey didn’t think he ever heard someone gasp so loudly in all of his twenty-two years of living. 

“MIKEY!” he scurried across the floor and grabbed the stuffed turtle off his bed, “Mom, look, it’s Mikey!”

“I see,” Lana pushed herself between Ian and Mickey and sat on her own bed. A stark white comforter over pastel pink sheets, covered with light yellow and orange flowers in full bloom, with some green leaves here and there, “This is really for us?”

Mickey nodded and felt Ian’s hand wrap around his back and rest on his hip, “Don’t know anyone else who gets so excited over a goddamn turtle.”

“Language,” Ian whispered into his ear. 

Yev came back over to his two dads, still cuddling his plush toy, and tried hugging all four legs at once, but his arms were two short so he took some steps back to look up at his biological father, “I love Mikey. ‘Cause- ‘cause mommy said that your name was Mickey and it sounds like Mikey.”

“It sure does. You like everything?” he saw Yev watch Lana as she sat down on her mattress, looking like she might cry at any second. “Look what we got you,” the kid needed to be sidetracked, “there’s Legos and trucks and some Power Rangers stuff, those are Ian’s favorite.”

He heard some shuffling behind him and something along the lines of, “Come on,” and then he was left alone with his son. 

“You keep playin’ with these, I’m gonna go help mom and Ian, okay? Make me somethin’ cool.”

He, for the first time, could walk away without being hung onto or whined at. Distractions. Kids love distractions. 

Making his way back outside, he crossed paths with Ian who had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, one hand carrying multiple plastic grocery bags filled with clothes, and rolling a suitcase along the ground with the other. Then Lana passed him, eyes still looking teary, but she was keeping herself preoccupied with bags on bags on bags, all weighing her down. 

He grabbed a few pieces of luggage from the trunk and headed back inside, once again breezing past the other two. Going back into the newly filled room, he dumped everything on Lana’s bed and opened their closet, pulling out the hangers. He started filling the horizontal pole up with clothes, piece by piece, while his son played aimlessly on the floor, using nothing but his own imagination to build different creations out of Legos. 

They had so many clothes, so many that Mickey figured they’d have to go back to the Mexican Ikea tomorrow to get a dresser. The closet wasn’t going to cut it.

It only took Ian and Lana one more trip to the car to gather everything and leave the fossil of a car empty again. They brought everything into Lana and Yev’s room, clumping the bags in the corner to deal with tomorrow.

Mickey finished hanging up clothes and turned to look at the other grownups in the room, “You guys like taquitos?”

Lana shrugged like she had no clue what those were, “I guess?”

“You’ll like ‘em.”

He and Ian went into the kitchen while Lana stayed back with Yev, taking some time to process everything. This was a huge change for her, but more importantly, for Yev. She looked at him siting crisscross applesauce on the floor, connecting different shaped and colored Legos to create towers or boxes, only to rip them apart and start again. He was dealing with this better than she was. 

Mickey started cooking the ground beef, stirring it constantly while Ian was on his phone, chilling at the table. This whole family vibe was something Mickey never experienced, even when they all lived together in his old home, there was never a sense of contentment; serenity. He rolled up the meat with some shredded cheese in warmed tortillas so they didn’t break when handling them, packed them into a rectangular cake pan, threw that into the oven, and set the timer. Easiest thing he’s ever learned to cook, and damn good too. 

“Never knew you could cook anything other than toast,” Mickey turned to look at him while scrubbing the dirty pan in the sink. “Actually, you always burned that too, never mind.”

“Aye,” he tugged the towel off his shoulder and dried the object in his hand, “I can cook.”

Ian laughed back and continued looking through his phone.

“Who ya talkin’ to?”

“Carl. Thinks he might be bi.”

“Really?” Mickey put the pan in the cabinet underneath the stove, right where it belonged, “Thought that’d end up being your other asshole brother.”

“Nah, pretty sure Liam’s straight.”

“Fuckin’ smartass, huh?” He was this close to playfully whipping Ian with the dish towel until tiny feet came treading into the main area of the house followed by, “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s the potty?”

“Uh,” potty. A word he never thought he would ever hear, let alone have spoken to him. He didn’t even think he himself ever said the word, just skipped over the baby talk and went directly to crapper, “It’s in my room, bud.”

The kid rushed into the second room and Mickey heard the door slam shut. 

Mickey plopped down in a chair next to Ian and pulled his own phone out, not surprised when there were no messages. Two of the three people who had his number were in his house, the third was probably jacking some guy off for a couple hundred bucks in a fancy hotel room. But he couldn’t let himself go down that rabbit hole in his mind.

They heard Yev come back out of their room and open the fridge like he owned the dame place, “Can I have juice?”

“Dinner’s almost ready, you can have some then.”

And there was more complaining with high pitched, a strung out, ‘Noooo,’ and ‘I want it now,’ making Mickey’s head throb, “Hey, what’d a tell you about the whining, huh?”

He got up and closed the fridge door, leading his kid to the oven, “Look,” he picked Yev up under his armpits to put him at eye level with the timer, “you’ve lived for four years, you can handle four more minutes.” Yev just nodded and took the discipline like a champ, obviously knowing not to put up a fight. Not to his strict Russian mommy or his fugitive, ex-thug of a father. He stole Mickey’s seat at the table and fumbled with his fingers, showering Mickey with guilt. Was he being too harsh? To unreasonable? He was only four and just wanted a cup of apple juice. Mickey thought he had already become as soft as he could ever get, but, apparently, this kid had a different way of breaking down his walls. He got the juice out and poured Yev a small glass, putting it on the table in front of him and pressing a kiss onto his hair from behind, “No more whining, okay? You hear me?” Yev’s bent his neck back to look up at his dad upside down and smiled, satisfied.

The timer started beeping, dragging Lana out of her room, now wearing pajamas, “It smells good.”

“Fuck yeah, it does.”

“Language!” Ian yelled back, motioning at Yev to cover his ears. 

“He’s a Milkovich. Tryin’ to keep him pure is pointless.”

Mickey pulled the tray of sizzling food out of the oven and served up three adult size helpings and one plate with a smaller serving. He put everyone’s plates in front of them and went back to get the sour scream and guacamole, not giving a fuck if anyone else besides him wanted them. 

“Alright, bring on the compliments,” he dolloped the condiments onto his plate, “tell me what a great chef I am.”

“They are really good, Mick.”

“Keep ‘em comin’.”

“They are like tiny burritos,” Lana took a bite and held the taquito up to her eye, inspecting the contents cooked inside the tortilla, “I like them.”

“What do you think, Yev?” Mickey lifted his head and the kid’s plate was already clean, “Jeez, you want some more?” 

He was still chewing but managed to speak out a muffled, “Yes, please.”

“You know,” Lana grabbed her son’s plate without giving Mickey a chance to step in, “you did not have to make our room that nice.”

“What, you thought we’d make you sleep on the fuckin’ floor?”

Ian mouthed, ‘language,’ and glared at him from across the table. Mickey just flipped him off, completely going against Ian’s fight for a clean household. The younger guy just shook his head and laughed, taking another bite.

“No,” she handed Yev’s plate back to him, now covered with food again, “but we could have slept on the couch.”

Mickey scrunched his face and looked at her like what she just said was the stupidest thing he’d ever hear, “Are you insane?”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Well, you don’t have to anymore.”

Yev gasped and smiled, “That rhymed! Like Cat in the Hat.”

His reaction made Mickey temporarily rethink his defiance to keeping Yev perfect and pure. The kid was like a sponge, he heard and saw everything, soaking it all in. Whatever he heard as a four-year-old would directly affect who he turned out to be as an adult. Mickey grew up in a house where the word ‘fuck’ was used in every single sentence and he most definitely had his fair share of mess-ups and failures. Hell would have to freeze over before he’d let what happened to him happen to Yev, “It sure did.”

After the three adults had second helpings, Lana volunteered to clean everything up. She washed the dishes and packed away the leftovers while her three boys lounged on the couch, bellies full. 

Ian was held captive my two bodies; Mickey’s head in his lap, applying pressure to his crotch, but he kept himself composed because Yev was curled into his side. The T.V was on, playing some random movie that was originally spoken in English but had been dubbed with Spanish. 

“Hey,” Mickey looked up at him, eyes blinking slowly with Ian’s hand grazing through his hair, “did you bring that picture I asked for?”

Ian nodded his head to confirm that he did began using his left index finger to trace over Mickey’s features. Starting on his forehead, he moved down the bridge of his nose, down his lips to his chin, back up his cheek, and did a full circle around his face. Mickey’s lids fell closed and he felt like he was floating. 

“Yev, up, up. Time for your bath.” 

Ian could feel him grow closer to his ribcage, then reluctantly drag himself off the couch, undoubtedly remembering what his dad had told him earlier today. 

“Have you, uh,” he turned down the movie right as the water began pulsing through the pipes, crashing into the tub. Unsure of whether Mickey was asleep or not, he felt like this was the time to ask, “thought about therapy yet?”

Mickey groaned and moved around, not so subtly grinding the back of his head down on Ian’s dick, “Nothin’ wrong with me, man. Drop it.”

Feeling too tired to fight it, he turned the volume back up and let his hand move from Mickey’s hair to his chest. 

Yev got out of the tub and redressed in his jammies before he jumped back on the couch, “Come tuck me in, pleeeeeease.”

Mickey had rolled onto his side, facing the back of the couch, “Whining.”

Lana called out for Yev from their room and Ian got up, Mickey’s head dropping to the hot seat without warning, “What the fu-“

“Get up.”

He rubbed his eyes, and stumbled to where everyone else was. Yev looked so small in his bed, covers brought all the way up to his armpits. He grabbed the stuffed animal up off the floor, next to the pile of Legos that Lana was on her knees picking up, “Mikey gonna sleep with you?”

Yev caught the ball mid-air when his dad threw it, gaining claps and word of encouragement for even the most minor success. Recognition. Something Ian and Mickey, hell, even Svetlana never heard when they were little, but wished so badly that they had. 

“Goodnight, baby.”

“Night, mommy.”

“Night, Yevy.”

“Night, Ian.”

“See ya later, kid.”

“Love you, dad.”

They all planted kisses on his forehead, Ian and Lana leaving while Mickey stayed back to turn on the night light they bought a few days prior, “You want this on?”

“Yes, please.”

He switched it on and gave Yev another kiss, tucking the covers around him tighter, “Love you," clicking the main ceiling light off, the room was illuminated in a pale white glow. He wordlessly shut the door behind him, leaving his son to put himself to sleep, and headed for the fridge, “You guys wanna beer?”

Two grunts in different tones came back to him and he grabbed three drinks, popping the caps off and handing then around. Ian and Lana took over the couch, so he was forced to fill the chair to the right of them, “So, you gonna tell us what happened?”

“Well,” she took a swig of the alcohol and flicked her head back, getting the hair off her shoulders, “start from beginning? You go to prison; I divorce you and marry V.”

“Yeah, knew that.”

“I live with them, take care of babies, trick them into giving me Alibi.”

Mickey brought his upper body forward, confused as hell, “You did what?” 

Ian was in the middle, head going back and forth each time the other spoke.

“Told them I was adopting babies, had them sign papers giving me bar. Easy," "she was speaking so calmly, words were flowing out of her mouth like molasses, making it apparent that she had gone over this conversation too many times in her head, “until I told them. Kicked us out, we had no place to go. Burned everything we have but we stay above bar. They call immigration.” This was brand new information to Ian too. Up to when he ran into her at the store a few days before his initial flight, he hadn’t seen her in years. Not since his last visit to Mickey, which he’d rather not remember, “We go back to your house, beg Iggy to let us stay.”

“Wait, why did you want that piece of shit bar in the first place? Fuckin’ Rub n Tug brought in more cash than that dump ever has.”

“Exactly,” another chug of beer slid down her throat, “Kev was ruining everything, I had to take over.”

Mickey settled back into his seat, “Huh.”

“We go back to your house, beg Iggy to let us stay. We move in, I stay inside to hide from cops. I finally go out and see orange boy, tells me he’s going to see you. I write card, he brings it to you, and here we are.”

Ian looked at Mickey, with the same bewildered expression plastered on his face. How he never knew about any of this shit happening while it was going on just down the street had him underestimating how much he knew about his hometown. 

Mickey rubbed an open palm over his mouth, trying to figure out how to console her in the most mundane way he could to prevent showing how concerned he truly was, “What assholes. Who the fuck would do that to someone, especially a woman with a kid.”

“Who knows,” she yawned and got up from the couch, “I am tired. Goodnight.”

“Later.”

The two men sat together in a comfortable silence for a while. Ian was the first to get up and enter their room, Mickey trailing behind. He picked his backpack up and rummaged through the largest section, pulling the wrinkled, torn picture of his sixteen-year-old self and tossing it on the bed toward Mickey, “Here.”

This picture had been in his life for years. The wear and tear showed completely, the edges frayed and fold lines prominent from repeatedly bending it into a small square to fit in his wallet. It was all he wanted to look at while he jacked off at night when he couldn’t sleep during his time in the joint. This stupid kid in a beanie, flipping the camera off like some wannabe thug with a smirk on his face, throwing his whole ‘I’m a badass’ image off. 

“Thanks.”

He went put the photo in the extra frame they had from their trip to the store and stood it up on his nightstand, making the angle just right so he’s wake up to it every morning. Ian on both sides of his body. His dream. 

There was something wrong here. Ian was too quiet and tense, standing away from him while they brushed their teeth when, typically, he’d be standing behind Mickey with his free hand wrapped around him, hand drifting into his boxers to get him ready for what was to come, but this was different. He bushed and spit before Mickey had even gotten paste on the bristles. He was in bed, facing away from the bathroom and Ian watched him without turning around, getting a clear view from the mirror. 

Foam was released from his mouth and he made his way back to bed and under the covers, feeling so far away from Ian. They never slept apart like this, whether it was spooning or Mickey draping himself over him, they were always connected. Ian was so close to the side of the bed, Mickey thought if he made the mattress move too much, he’s accidentally send Ian flying onto the floor. 

Mickey felt like he was alone, like Ian wasn’t even there. Like he got thrown back into his life without his love, his security blanket. It was pitch black and silent; he could barely hear Ian breathing because he was so far away. If this continued, he wasn’t gonna sleep. And if he didn’t sleep, Ian would be madder at him than he was right now for whatever reason. 

He shoved the sheets off and pulled Ian’s shoulder toward him, flattening him onto his back. Mickey straddled him and held his hands over his head, “What’s up with you, why are you acting like this?”

Ian wasn’t keeping eye contact with him. He was either looking past Mickey or down at his chest, but never meeting Mickey’s stare, “Mad at you.”

“Oh, you’re mad at me?” Mickey let one of Ian’s hands free to squeeze his face and hold it in place, forcing him to look up, “What’d I do now, huh?”

“Therapy.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ian. How many times do I gotta tell you to get over it. There’s nothing wrong with me, alright? I’m fi-“

“Yeah, you’re fine. That’s what everyone who needs help says. Monica used to say it, I said it, and now you’re saying it.”

“I don’t know how to get you to stop worrying,” Mickey sat back and could feel Ian hardening underneath him. “What do you want me to do?” he started moving his hips back and forth, adding more and more pressure with each rock forward and Ian closed his eyes, his voice low and seductive, “Want me to get on my knees and beg?”

Ian lifted Mickey up around his waist and flipped him over, switching their positions, “No, I want you to shut the fuck up.”

He forced his lips onto Mickey’s, their mouths simultaneously opened, letting their tongues slide together. It was demanding and a little angry, but Mickey just surrendered as he always did when Ian took control. 

Ian yanked his head back, leaving Mickey breathless with wet lips, “You gonna freak the fuck out again if I get the lube?”

Mickey’s face stiffened, jaw tight, “Fuck you.”

“You hate topping,” he leaned over and opened the drawer, grabbed the bottle and closed it as loud as he could just to piss Mickey off, “never been able to keep it up.”

Mickey tried to get leverage on him and take the reins, but Ian trapped both of Mickey’s hands with one of his above his head. This is the tug-of-war Mickey loved; the fight to gain power but still inevitably giving it up to Ian. He shoved Mickey’s underwear down and spread his legs further apart, somehow managing to get the gel onto his fingers with only one available limb. 

He circled around his rim and pressed in with two fingers, intentionally not giving Mickey a heads-up. It was the burn he ached for, the sting that radiated up his spine. He was all the way in, opening and closing his digits, stretching him just enough. Mickey’s eyes were shut, looking like he was in some pain, but Ian knew better than to stop. Pain was good in Mickey’s world. No discomfort meant they were taking their time to focus on intimacy, which was fine on occasion, but when spur-of-the-moment events like this took place, especially when they had shit they needed to settle, all he wanted was to have that same familiar soreness the next morning. 

Ian pulled out and finally let Mickey’s hands go, confident he wouldn’t struggle now that they were this far into it. He pulled his own underwear down, letting his cock out, shivering at the new air that wisped over it. He wiped the excess lube onto himself and applied some more; wanting to make Mickey feel and remember this the next day didn’t mean he wanted to make him tear. 

Lining himself up, he pushed in in one solid go, making Mickey’s back arch off the bed, his eyes rolling back into his head. Ian braced himself on his forearms and stayed put for longer than he should have. He would blame it on letting Mickey adjust, but they both knew it was to make him squirm. 

“Fucking _move.”_

Ian backed himself out, leaving only the tip trapped inside, then rammed back in. Mickey’s arms hooked under Ian’s armpits, nails scratching down his shoulder blades, making him look like a red and white zebra. Their mouths were parted and hovering closely in front of the other’s while Ian kept jamming into him, headboard clashing against the wall, hot breath comingling in the small empty area between their lips. 

They were both close, the warm feeling swirling around below their stomachs. Mickey was almost there, he was so out of it that when there was a knock, a bang in his head, on the door, he did what Ian mocked him for. He freaked the fuck out.

“Ian, get off me.”

“Get OFF me.”

“GET THE FUCK OFF ME.”

He used whatever strength he had left to pry Ian up high enough for him to wriggle himself out from under him and ground himself on the floor, pulling his boxers back on and grabbing the baseball bat he had hidden under the bed.

“Mickey, what the fuck? Put the fucking bat away, what are you doing?”

He ignored Ian and tiptoed slowly, nearing the door. There was another knock and he held the weapon up like if he swung, the ball would be shot out of the park. He pressed down the handle and peaked into the crack looking around. Then down. It was a little boy with messy hair, rubbing his eyes and looking up at him like an actual angel brought to life.His arms relaxed and he leaned the bat against a wall, a pent-up breath escaping his lungs, “Yev. What’s wrong, bud?” He cracked the door open enough for the boy to get through, “Why are you awake?”

“I gotta pee.”

“Alright, make it quick.”

Mickey looked back at Ian sitting on the bed, face and body speaking for him since his mouth was no use. Disappointment. Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Defeat. All emotions that were glowing off his skin without even being aware of it. 

Ian watched Mickey go in the bathroom with Yev and listened intently to their conversation.

“Hold on, what are you doing? You don’t pee sitting down?”

No response.

“Jesus, what has your mom been teaching you. Look, lift the seat up, point, aim, and shoot.”

“I can't go when you're in here.”

“Alright, alright. Excuuuuse me.”

Mickey came back out into the main room and sat on his side of the bed, feet dangling above ground. He could feel Ian staring at his back, but couldn’t get the balls to turn around.

“Hey,” his voice sounded pissed, so Mickey stayed put, “you almost just hit your four-year-old son in the head with a fucking baseball bat and you're gonna tell me you're fine? That there’s nothing wrong with you?”

There was nothing he could say to defend himself. Nothing he could do to take back his actions that were scarily similar to Ian’s paranoia episode before getting his second dose of meds. This was a wakeup call.

The toilet flushing reminded him of where he was and his son came walking to him, stopping in front of his knees, “Can I sleep with you? Mommy’s snoring.”

He didn’t even know what was going on behind him. There was no way of knowing if Ian was even there. He could’ve taken off during those few seconds Mickey zoned out and he wouldn’t have known. 

“Yeah, c’mon.”

Yev used the bed frame to get a little higher, but his dad had to lift him the rest of the way. He crawled into the center of the bed and nestled himself under the sheets that probably smelled like sex. Mickey twisted himself around, scared of seeing nothing but a tiny body next to him, but he was there. They were both there. Ian was on his side, observing Mickey like he was a star in the jet-black room. 

He lied down and turned himself over onto his left side, eyes staying glued on Ian’s. For a moment, they forgot there was another person in bed with them until he spoke.

“Why do you an Ian sleep together?”

The words entered his brain but he didn’t move. Shit was going to have to happen, as much as he wanted to fight it, something had to change. He kept telling himself he wasn’t going to do it for Ian, but instead for himself, even though he knew that was a lie. Living like this wasn’t fun, sure, but losing Ian to some fucking mental illness made him feel just as nauseous as he did at the border.

“Because I love him.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!!! this chapter took an extra week to write, sorry about that. my brain didn't want to cooperate and prevented me from finishing it earlier :(
> 
> there is a mention of suicide, just a warning

Getting kicked in the stomach and pushed off his own bed was an experience Mickey never thought he would be forced to have any involvement in. Halfway through the night, Yev had completely rotated himself so his head was on Ian’s belly and his feet were stretched out, pressing harder and harder on Mickey until he was right on the edge of the mattress and lost his balance, falling off, almost bashing his head into the corner of his nightstand during the process. 

Ian didn’t respond to him after he answered Yev, but continued staring at him, well after the kid had fallen asleep and for long enough that Mickey could see just by his eyes that he was at his wits end and would more than likely be booking an appointment with a therapist first thing in the morning. Or a flight back to Chicago, that was always a possibility. He was wide awake when Yev evicted him, thankfully, so he could put his feet underneath him and catch himself, rather than landing right on his ass. There was too much going on his head for it to even consider shutting off for a couple hours, not to mention he couldn’t hold onto Ian and was therefore unable to find some piece of mind. There was nothing peaceful about their situation except the sleeping baby next to Ian. 

After being thrown onto the ground by his own son, he sat there for a while, back against the side of the bed. He hadn’t felt this numb since his first night alone in Mexico, the dullness in his chest aching and throbbing, like there was nothing underneath his skin, just a hollow void. 

The brain-tornado had returned and there was nothing he could do but let himself get swept up into it. He had been seconds away from smashing Yev’s head into smithereens with a baseball bat. This was a real and petrifying act of adrenaline that was completely out of his control. The little fist knocking on his door showered him with anxiety, draining him of any sense of right or wrong, but instead filling him up with concern and uneasiness. 

He wanted to get up and shake himself out of this emotionless haze, but his body was weighted down by his guilt. Yev didn’t see anything and wasn’t hurt, but just knowing that he could’ve and was about to rip the kid’s head off his tiny frame was enough to make Mickey want to send all three of his family members back to Chicago. They’d be better off without him. 

A whisper came from above him, it was rough and clearly from a man not a boy, “Mickey?”

“What?” he kept his eyes staring straight forward toward the closet, not moving an inch.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“Kid kicked me out.”

The sheets got pulled out from behind his back like Ian was folding them to expose the mattress, “Get back up here.”

“’M good.”

Mickey hauled himself off the floor and left Ian and Yev without another word. The sun hadn’t risen yet, it was earlier than he’d usually give up on sleeping, but he didn’t exactly have another option. He turned the dim light on above the stove so he wouldn’t be fumbling around, making an excessive amount of unnecessary noise and started the first of many pots of coffee.

He stood with the small of his back fitting perfectly over the edge of the counter, arms crossed. The tiredness he was feeling wasn’t just from not sleeping, he was tired of everything. When he got like this, his brain blocked out everything around him and focused solely on what was inside of itself. There was so much shit in going on and he didn’t know just how much longer he could keep up the everything-is-okay act and the failed attempts at ignoring what was truly going on.

“Where is my Yevgeny?”

Tugged out of his thoughts he saw Lana standing in front of him, hair frizzy and eyes hooded, “Asleep with Ian.”

She walked toward him and grabbed a single mug out of the cupboard, purposefully not getting another one for him, “Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he looked down and noticed the one cup, “You gonna pour me one?”

Rolling her eyes, she pulled another mug out and filled it with the steaming hot liquid, “He tells me you don’t sleep.” 

“Yeah, he should keep his fuckin’ mouth shut.”

They both tiptoed to the table and took their seats in virtually complete darkness, the stove light illuminating only the immediate space in front of it. The coffee was practically boiling, they both muttered a ‘fuck’ underneath their breaths as it burned their tongues and throats. 

“What is plan for today?”

“I dunno,” Mickey shrugged his shoulders and blew onto the surface of his drink in an effort to cool it down, “wanted to get you guys a dresser ‘cause you have so many fuckin’ clothes, but that’ll probably have to wait.”

Lana nodded and took another slow sip, wincing at the obvious heat, “You make good money?”

“I make enough.”

“How much is enough?”

“None of your goddamn business, that’s how much.”

“You don’t have to act like big tough man anymore, you know,” she swallowed another bit of the drink and settled back into the wooden chair,.“You are with two adults who see through your bullshit and one baby who only wants a daddy and couldn’t give less of a shit about who you are.”

Mickey looked at her with a blank expression, from sleepiness, yes, but also because she was right and that fact along frustrated him beyond belief. He could be whoever the fuck he wanted to be without the dark cloud of Terry hanging over his head, but it was difficult for him to let his guard down like that. He had held hands with Ian in public, which was a huge step for him, but it was the emotional stuff that he kept in a fictional box, enclosed with deadbolt after deadbolt, all the keys thrown into the Gulf of Mexico. 

“I’m fine.”

“I am not stupid. You look like zombie from that Walking Dead show.”

“Yeah, well,” he stole her cup away and went back to the pot, filling both back up to the brim, “it’s nothin’ I can't handle.”

They stayed at the table until the sun rose from the ocean’s horizon, talking about what had gone on while he was locked up and why she stopped visiting him even before they got divorced. He always told her that he wouldn’t see her unless Ian came too, but after months of no visitors he eventually cracked and asked her to come, even if she was alone. Although that never happened, she continued to call for business reasons and to let him speak to Yev, making sure he wouldn’t forget who his dad was.

Lana took ownership of the couch and remote, crossing her feet on the coffee table, while Mickey snuck back into his room, “Hey,” he whispered and rested a hand on Ian’s shoulder, shaking him just enough to bring him back to reality, “I’m going to the store, you want anything?”

Ian just groaned back and pulled the covers up higher, almost covering Yev’s entire face. Mickey wasn’t gonna entertain the visual reminder of Ian’s depression. He was going to the store and coming back like a normal person on a Sunday morning. That’s it. 

He put on some sweatpants, kept a wife beater on and pocketed some cash from the shoe box in the closet and headed out. His eyes were begging to shut the whole two-minute ride to the market, his blinking consistent but slowed. 

“Aye! Mikhailo!” an older, gray-haired woman behind the counter yelled at him, “The fuck are you doing here so early on your day off?”

Mickey squeezed the bridge of his nose and squinted, the fluorescent lights blinding his already burning eyes, “Jesus Christ, Bella, it’s seven in the goddamn morning, could you keep it down? Please?” 

The place was busy for this hour, mostly just working men getting their daily cup of cheap espresso before their shifts started. He ignored her question and sauntered down to the cold, glass cases, the majority holding only energy drinks and beer. He grabbed two cartons of milk: one regular and a small chocolate for Yev. 

“Hey! Bella!” he had to yell over the chatter going on and stood on his toes to see over the aisles, “You guys got any pancake mix?”

“Number two.”

He sank back onto the balls of his feet and swerved in and out of people, trying to make as little contact with these men as possible. Aisles breezed past him and he made it to the other side of the store, turning and stopping in his tracks, almost dropping the bottles of milk.

“Mickey.”

The one guy he hooked up with in a state of pure isolation and desperation, the one guy who he never thought he would see again and never wanted to see again. His name was some stereotypical Hispanic, family tradition, passed down for years and years kind of name, but once the guy left his house, the name went with him, “Hey… pal?” 

He readjusted what he was holding and maneuvered his way around the man, intimidated by how tall and buff he was. Ian was one thing, but this guy was in a whole different league. Biceps bulging through his gray t-shirt, another bulge in his matching gray sweats. Mickey scanned over the shelves of instant, boxed desserts and hoped he would be left alone. He could only be so lucky. 

“How’ve you been?” no-name walked closer to him and invaded his personal bubble, causing him to immediately tense up and search harder for that fucking pancake mix. He wanted to do something nice for his son and make some banana pancakes, why did everything have to be so difficult. 

“Good.”

The guy was getting closer and closer and Mickey was becoming more irritated by the second, “You miss me?”

“Not really, no.”

He found the box he needed as well as some syrup and walked away quickly, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to lose this person in such a tiny store. The heat was following him and it was frustratingly apparent when he got to the produce section, which was technically just a box cooler with a couple melons, some bananas and premade fruit salads in plastic cups, “Wanna pick up where we left off?”

The breath was hot on his neck and if he wasn’t so tired, the guy would be on the floor with a broken nose by now, “Nope,” he slid open the clear cover and grabbed a bundle of bananas, balancing them on whatever else he was holding. “Remember the name I said when we were fucking that made you cry like a little pussy?” Mickey turned around so he was almost chest-to-chest with this guy, head tilted and eyebrows arched as usual, “He’s livin’ with me now. So, if you don’t back the fuck up off me, you’re gonna be in some serious shit,” ending the conversation with a grin.

He waited for the man to walk away, his arms were starting to ache from carrying the groceries. The guy finally stepped back and put his hands up in surrender, “Whatever.” 

“Mikhailo, what the fuck was that?” Bella’s voice brought him back and he moved to the counter to relieve his muscles.

“Nothin’.” 

She rang up the items and packed them away in a paper bag, secretly hoping he’d tell her more. He threw a twenty on the counter, snatched his stuff away and headed back toward the exit, “Tell Eric I’ll see him tomorrow,” the bell above his head chimed as he opened the door and was met with a gust of already warming, salty ocean air. Being on the boss’ wife’s good side never hurt anybody, “Bye, Bella.”

He heard her call out to him again when he made it to his car. The guy was leaning against his own, watching him with a cigarette between his lips. Mickey flung the bag into the passenger seat, not caring that he probably just mashed the bananas, and hopped in, starting the engine and driving away from a mess he never should’ve encountered in the first place. 

The drive home was much easier, he was more awake and aware of his surroundings, not so droopy-eyed. 

“Ian awake?” he tossed the bag on the kitchen table and moved to open the blind on each window, letting light through and making Lana cover her eyes with the palm of her hand.

“Yes. He is in shower.”

“Go get Yev up,” Mickey unloaded the bag and put everything away and Lana stood up, “I’m makin’ pancakes.”

She poked her head into Ian and Mickey’s room, seeing her son still sound asleep, “You are Mr. Mom now?”

He flipped her off and she stepped in. Mickey could hear Yev grumbling as he returned to Earth. There was a faint ‘where’s daddy?’ and then little feet were thumping against the floor and a boy emerged with miniature fingers curled into a fist, rubbing his tired eyes. 

“Hey, bud,” Mickey picked Yev up under his armpits and sat him on the counter next to the sink. He stepped back and folded his arms, “Guess what we’re gonna make?” Yev didn’t say anything, just looked back at his dad and waited for the answer until Mickey whispered and exaggerated the words with his mouth, “Banana pancakes.”

Mickey got the ingredients out and had Yev help him along the way. He learned that having a child help with cooking isn’t necessarily helping, they just make the process go a hundred times slower than normal. But making breakfast for his family on an early weekend morning was almost too wholesome for Mickey; going to church would’ve been the final straw.

Ian emerged from their room, hair wet and dripping onto his cotton-clad shoulders. He walked over to where Mickey was standing over the stove, flipping the pancakes and placed a chaste, stiff kiss to his temple, “Morning.”

Mickey stayed staring at the pan as Ian moved to give a more loving kiss to Yev’s forehead, ruffling his already messy bedhead. This tension was making Mickey feel nauseous, it felt as though his stomach was in his throat, about to release its contents onto the food Yev worked so hard on creating. He replied quietly, so quietly there was no way to know if Ian even heard him, “Morning.”

Breakfast was served. Ian and Mickey sat across from each other, Lana and Yev did the same. The two men would find themselves occasionally looking up from their plates at the same time, eyes temporarily securing to one another until someone would pull away, typically Ian. 

Yev was yammering on and on about anything and everything, Lana being the only one to make him feel like someone was listening. Ian and Mickey remained mute until Ian’s phone started buzzing in his pocket. He got up wordlessly and stepped outside onto the deck, Mickey watching him through the glass.

Ian looked distressed and there was a lot of pacing mixed with palm to forehead action and Mickey despised himself for not being able to get up and see what the fuck was going on, but before he could have an internal tug-of-war with himself, Ian came back inside and took his seat back at the table. 

No one except Yev talked, they all just continued eating and listening to the kid count to twenty repeatedly. Mickey waited for Yev to take a break, to catch his breath after talking nonstop, and finally opened his mouth, “Who was that?”

Ian dropped his fork in the pool of syrup on his plate and looked up, “Fiona.”

“Who’s Fiona?” Yev looked back and forth between his two fathers.

“No one, bud. What’d she say?”

Mickey stared at him, wanting even the simplest explanation for why he looked so upset outside, but Ian got up and took all four of their plates to the sink. He started washing off the sticky, maple substance and Mickey tried again, “What did she say, Ian?”

Ian put the utensils and plates into the dishwasher, having to speak loudly over the clanking and water rushing from the faucet, “Frank’s dead.”

“Who’s Frank?”

“No one, Yev.” Mickey let out a breathy chuckle through his nose and finished off his seventh cup of coffee with one gulp, speaking with nothing but sarcasm, “Too bad.”

“She wants me to come back for his funeral,” Ian closed the door of the washer and turned the running water off.

“That’s also too bad,” Mickey turned his head in Ian’s direction to find that the latter was already watching him. Ian licked his lips and ducked his head, looking like he had already made up his mind, “You’re not thinkin’ about going back?” Ian tilted his head back up and leaned it to the side, “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me?”

“Language.”

“No, don’t fucking ‘language’ me,” Mickey got up and moved toward him, leaving a gap between them. “You’re not serious?”

Ian kept his eyes on Mickey but started speaking in a mundane tone, “Lana can you take Yev outside, please?”

Yev asked if they were fighting but his mom just hushed him and lead him to the backdoor, looking back before following her son down to the ocean, “We do not need you two fucking things up. Get it together.”

Mickey crossed his arms as the she slid the door shut and looked back at Ian with a bold, deep crease between his brows.

“He’s my dad, Mickey.”

“No the fuck he’s not?” he sat back down at the head of the table, eyes never leaving Ian, “You just got back, why are you doing this?”

Ian mindlessly folded the dishtowel on the counter into a square. Mickey could see his jaw clenching and lips twitching, like something was on the tip of his tongue. And it was, it came pouring out like lava from a volcano, “I won’t leave if you go to therapy with me.”

Mickey didn’t say anything, just settled back into the chair and let out an air-filled laugh, his lungs losing everything they held. He shook his head in disbelief while Ian kept his gaze on the towel, folding and refolding it just to keep his hands busy, “Go fuck yourself.”

Ian nodded and left the towel to go back into their bedroom, Mickey standing quickly to trail behind. He truly felt like he could vomit. 

“What the fuck’s he ever done for you, huh?” Mickey cemented himself to the floor, fearing he would do something he’d later regret if he let himself continue moving, “Name one goddamn thing he’s done to make you choose him over me.”

Ian dropped one of his suitcases on the floor and paused, “It doesn’t matter, Mickey.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I can't be here if you won't help yourself,” he sat on the edge of the bed, “I can't watch you do this to yourself.”

Mickey felt like he was a bobble head, his neck was incapable for preventing his head from moving side to side out of pure and utter distrust, “I can't believe you.”

They locked eyes again, Mickey seeing dissatisfaction and defeat, Ian seeing anger mixed with their relationship crumbling right before him. 

Mickey grabbed the suitcase and flung it back into the closet, “Ian, listen to me-”

Ian cut him off, “Yeah, you’re fine, I get it-”

“LISTEN TO ME.”

It was like an electric shock went through both the men. Mickey never raised his voice in rage anymore, especially not to Ian, but he needed the younger man to pay attention and understand where he was coming from, “I want you to think back to your depression, alright?”

Ian hung his head, placing his elbows on his knees, “Don’t do this, Mickey.”

“No,” Mickey moved in front of him and lifted his head with a hand under his chin, “think about it. How long were you asleep in my bed?” he could feel Ian pressing down on his grip, trying to steer away from Mickey’s gaze, “How long was it, Ian?”

“Two weeks.”

“Yeah. Two weeks,” Mickey tried to keep his composure, even though his breathing was uneven and he could feel the burn behind his eyes returning. “Now, who was the one that fed you applesauce and yogurt and Jell-O just to make sure you didn’t fucking starve yourself to death?”

Ian looked past Mickey, able to see Lana and Yev on the beach through the glass door.

“Look at me,” Mickey shifted himself to block Ian’s view, hand still gripping his chin, “who was it?”

“You.”

“Okay, now who was the one that had you sip water through a straw so you wouldn’t get dehydrated? Hmm?”

Mickey’s chest was heaving and tears were forming in the corners of his eyes. The memories of what they went through back then made him feel like his heart was physically being shredded into tiny, little pieces, “You.”

“And who was the one who had to drag your ass to the shower to give you baths so you wouldn’t smell like dried-up piss all the time? Huh?”

Ian was crying now too, completely unable to look at Mickey. His eyes were closed, tears seeping through his lids and falling onto his cheeks. Mickey let go of Ian and slowly moved away, making his back flush with the wall, “Was it Frank? Was it Fiona? Was it Lip? Debbie? Carl? Monica? Your fancy new boyfriend?” he waited for an answer, but all Ian was giving him was sobs, “Who was it, Ian?”

Ian sniffled and rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, “You.”

“It was me,” Mickey willed himself to stop crying, wiping the water from the apples of his cheeks. “Your fucking family didn’t come see one time during those two weeks. You remember that? They didn’t call, they didn’t text,” he extended a finger to emphasize each point, “they didn’t do shit to even see if you were alive. And then,” Mickey laughed and arched his brows, “you went back to them. And the whole time I was so confused,” he readjusted his stance and folded his arms over his chest, “because I was thinkin’, ya know, what if Mandy got sick and Lip just… took her? My family would’ve never let that shit happen. But yours? They left you with me when I had absolutely no clue what the fuck I was doing.”

“You let Mandy leave with Kenyatta.”

Mickey stalled, “That’s all you got from what I just said?” he could feel himself getting irritated, “She was in another state, Ian!” he angled the top half of his body closer to the man sitting on the bed, “She wasn’t right down the fucking street where I could go get her back!”

“I’m just saying you did.”

“I don’t give a shit what _I_ did, this isn’t about me,” he pulled himself back up against the wall, “this is about you and your family.” He was much calmer now, getting this out in the open felt better than he could’ve imagined, “You’re all a bunch of selfish, arrogant assholes who live their entire lives not wanting to be like Monica, when in reality? You’re a spittin’ image. You run when shit gets hard, always have, always will.”

“I’m not like her.”

“Oh, you’re not?” he let out mockingly, “You have a son now, man. You have a kid and you’re about to run off and leave him because shit between me and you is startin’ to get a little tough. Sounds a lot like Monica to me.” Ian didn’t reply, he knew Mickey was right, “The point is, I stayed with you. I stayed because I love you and I don’t give a shit if you’re on meds or not,” Ian raised his head, “but you’ve been here for a fuckin’ week and are already threatening to leave ‘cause you can't handle me feelin’ a little worried about the cops. That’s the difference between you and me.” Mickey let his arms fall to his sides, throwing in the towel, “Look, if you wanna go, go. ‘Cause I’m not holding you hostage here. I want you to stay, but not if you don’t want to.”

“I wanna be here, Mickey, you gotta trust me.”

“Yeah, that’s the kinda shit you’re gonna have to talk about with whatever shrink you’re sending us to,” Mickey exited the room and he could hear Ian following him. He slid open the door and was immediately met with the sounds of Yev giggling, splashing his mom with tiny handfuls of water. 

“You’ll go?” Ian was right behind Mickey, breath on the back of his neck as they both watched the second half of their family.

“You’re not givin’ me much of a choice.” Mickey felt Ian try to wrap his arms around his shoulders, so he walked forward, “Don’t touch me, shit’s not fixed yet,” he strolled down the sand-covered stairs to the beach, feet already burning. “Sick of these ultimatums, man, I’m fuckin’ sick of ‘em.”

“Appointment’s already made at noon,” Ian yelled from behind until he caught up with Mickey, “she’s an English speaking, LGBT friendly, travelling therapist. She’s meeting with us on her day off.”

“That’s fan-fuckin’-tastic. Hope you have fun doin’ all the talkin’. YEV!”

Mickey ran through the rest of the sand and left Ian behind. The ocean instantly cooled his overheating feet as he threw his son up in the air, catching and dipping him under the water in one fell swoop. 

Ian pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Fiona to let her know that he wouldn’t be making it back for his uncle’s funeral. Told her California was treating him too well and that he couldn’t live with himself if he cut his trip short for that abusive piece of shit. 

He sat down on the sea of rocks turned to powder and took a moment to look at how good he had it. He had a boyfriend, virtually an undocumented husband, who he loved more than anything in the world. Never in a million years would he have thought that Mickey Milkovich would be better at expressing his feelings than him, but here they were. Everything he was doing, in his mind, he was doing out of love, even if Mickey didn’t see it that way.

He had a son, who was taking after him in ways he never thought possible. He always assumed people who talked about the first part of a baby’s life will shape who they are as adults were talking out of their asses, but it was real. Yev was around him so much as an infant and in the beginning stages of his toddler years, and he was scarily like him as a kid. Inquisitive and curious, wanting to be in the loop during adult conversations. He loved that baby. 

And he kind of had a wife. A wife who started out as someone who hurt his one true love in the worst circumstances they had ever faced. A wife who he hated for years on end, never wanting to accept as part of his and Mickey’s life. But also, a wife who gave him his step-son, a gift he would never be able to repay her for. They had grown into adulthood together, figured out how to take care of a baby, became mature and forgiving all for the kid. She wanted her ex-husband to love her, but he loved Ian. Ian wanted his boyfriend to leave her, but she kept her grip tight and unwavering. It was unconventional, but he wouldn’t want it any other way.

They had been put through hell, but all three of them came out stronger. 

The sun beating down on him was making droplets of sweat form on his skin, his feel buried in the sand felt like they were on fire. He watched as Mickey tossed water onto Yev’s head, both eventually teaming up against Lana. This was what he had dreamed of, time and time again, and he finally got it. He has a family who acknowledges him and listens to what he has to say. A family who appreciates him, loves him, and needs him.

He stayed watching for a while, until three people came trudging out of the water, wet feet clinging to the granules underneath them. Yev ran ahead of them back to the house, leaving the adults behind.

“You two are okay, yes?”

Mickey kept his pace as the other two reduced their speed, parting ways for Ian to take over and answer. This was the first of many questions he would be answering today.

A few hours of them sitting around watching T.V had passed, getting closer and closer to when they would need to leave. Mickey had no idea where they were going, who this lady was and what he was going to be forced to talk about. If he was lucky, nothing, but deep down he knew Ian wouldn’t let that slide. 

In a way, Mickey was okay with this. He was going to be able to say things that he never had the chance to before in a secure environment where Ian couldn’t run away or fight back. This was about him and he would have the upper hand the whole time, no matter what he said. 

There was always a chance that things could go downhill from this. Sharing secrets kept hidden for years might not be the glue that they needed at this point in their lives, but they would need to be spoken sooner rather than later. Starting arguments weren’t what he wanted, but if that happened after Ian dragged him to therapy? It was his fault, not Mickey’s. 

Yev was curled up on Lana’s lap, awake but drifting. Ian typed the address into his phone for directions and Mickey snuck up on his son, brushing the hair off his forehead, “Me and Ian are gonna leave for a little bit, okay? You’re gonna stay here with mom.”

“Are you coming back?”

“Of course,” he could feel Lana’s skeptical eyes branding into his skin. Ian must have lied and told her that they’re fine, “We’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Too tired to argue, Yev rested his head back on his mom’s chest and let out a content breath through his nose, focusing his attention back on the cartoons flashing across the screen.

Ian took possession of the car keys, grabbed both of their wallets and opened the front door for Mickey to walk through, “Ready?”

Silently, Mickey broke through the hot air barrier and made his way to the passenger side of the car, not even glancing at Ian. 

You could’ve heard a pin drop during the drive, Ian being the first to speak as they pulled into an apartment complex’s parking lot, “Your name’s Matty, mine’s Ivan.”

Mickey turned his head at the new sound, “Matty and Ivan? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Thought it’d be better to have similar names,” Ian chose a spot close to the entrance, “make it easier not to use our real ones.”

“Whatever, man,” Mickey got out before Ian even put the car in park and started toward to the doors, the sooner he got in, the sooner he’d get out.

Obviously, the door was locked, so he had no other option but to wait for Ian to stroll over and buzz them in. He walked over with a grin on his face and pressed a specific little blue button.

“Hello?”

The voice was calm, feminine and American, clearly not from a local, “Hey, it’s Ivan and Matty for our appointment.”

“That sounds so fuckin’ stupid,” Mickey mumbled under his breath when the door unlocked, letting them into the air-conditioned lobby. 

In the elevator, they stayed leaning on opposite walls, traveling up to the fourth floor.

“Just please try to cooperate,” Ian didn’t move and kept staring at his stainless-steel surroundings. “I know you’re mad, but please answer her questions and be honest.”

“You know, you asking me to do that makes me not wanna do it, right?”

Ignoring the response, Ian continued, “It’s all under the table, payin’ cash with no paperwork.”

“That’s great. You got it all planned out, huh?”

The elevator stalled and opened into an unfamiliar hallway. Ian lead Mickey down the corridor to the left and found the number the woman had given Ian on the correct door. He knocked and they were instantly met with the face of their doctor, almost like she was waiting right by the handle for them to make their presence known, “Hello,” she pulled back the door to its widest capacity and stood in front of them with her arm held out, “I’m Dr. Brenda Oliver, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Ian took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “Nice to meet you too,” she pointed it in Mickey’s direction, looking him straight in the eye. He ran his tongue along the underside of his teeth with a blank expression covering his face, hands staying in his pockets.

“Alright,” she retracted her attempt and stepped aside so they could walk into her home, “please, come in.”

Ian pushed Mickey with a firm hand on his back, the latter pressing back in defiance and keeping himself steady in his stance, as if his feet had brakes on them, “Go,” Ian said through gritted teeth, the doctor watching them, specifically Mickey, with suspicion. 

Mickey tripped slightly when he gave in, and entered the apartment with little to no grace or dignity. 

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice and on your day off, we really appreciate it. Don’t we, Matty?” Ian questioned and Mickey glared at him, standing awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about it. Please, make yourselves comfortable,” she motioned to the living room with one white chair placed directly across from a pastel yellow couch. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Water?”

“I think we’re okay, thank you.”

Mickey sat on the furthest end of the sofa, resting his elbow on the arm of it, cheek stuck to his palm. There were plants everywhere. Plants and paintings that looked like absolutely nothing but splatters or random lines crossed over each other. Windows lined the entire wall to his right, making the room a little too bright for his stinging, tired eyes. Ian sat on the other side, not wanting to invade Mickey’s bubble, “Don’t be mean to her just ‘cause you're mad at me.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Okay,” Brenda came back with three waters and a clipboard. She set two bottles on coasters in front of each man and kept the other for herself, “Just in case you change your minds.”

She took her own seat in the chair facing them and clicked the pen, jotting down something that made Mickey’s stomach flip, “Before we get started, Matty, I’m just gonna ask some basic questions to get a feel of where you are, is that okay?”

Acting like he could say no and walk free. He said nothing in return, just looked straight ahead.

“He’s a little nervous, it’s our first time doing anything like this.”

“That’s totally normal, although, there’s nothing to be worried about. What happens in this room, stays in this room.”

Ian turned his head to look at Mickey then back at the doctor, “I’ll answer for him.”

“I really need him to answer these, actually.”

Mickey shifted his eyes to meet this woman’s through his cat eye glasses. No way in hell was Ian about to answer whatever the fuck these questions were, “G’head.”

“Perfect. So, I’m gonna list off some things and just tell me if any of them apply to you,” Mickey nodded his head and readjusted his body to sit up straighter.

“Overeating?”

“No.”

“Withdrawal from drugs?”

“No.”

“Vomiting?”

“No.”

“Insomnia?”

Mickey paused and felt Ian gawking at him, waiting for the moment of truth. He swallowed the lump in his throat and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb, “Yeah.”

He saw her hand move over and circle what was obviously a ‘yes’ after three ‘no’s’, but kept her head down.

“Lack of motivation?”

“No.”

“Procrastination?”

“No.”

“Smoking?”

“Yeah.”

“Drinking?”

“Yeah.”

“Any disturbances while sleeping?”

Again, Ian shifted his focus to the left side of his face, “Yeah.”

“Drugs?”

“No.”

“One more, and please be honest with this one. Have you thought of or attempted suicide within the last six months?”

Ian didn’t move this time, and Mickey took notice of that. He looked at him every time he knew ‘yes’ was the answer, but this one was like all the other ‘no’s.’ He sat and picked at a piece of fraying fabric on a hole of his jeans, waiting for the next question. Mickey was taking too long to answer and he felt his heart start to race, his eyes darting around the room trying to find something to ground him, “Matty?”

“What?”

“Did you hear the question?”

Ian finally angled his head back up and turned to Mickey. Everyone was looking at him and he felt like the walls were closing in, like everything was going up in flames.

“Yeah.”

“’Yeah’ to if you heard what I said or ‘yeah’ to the question?”

His mouth was dry, but he somehow managed to swallow again. What happens here, stays here, right?

“Both.”

He watched as she scribbled some more and he could see Ian in his peripheral vision with his lips parted and brows scrunched together, “What?” Ian said so softly, Mickey barely heard him.

Mickey didn’t answer, he was too busy focusing on trying to steady his breath and use those anger management tips from prison. Ten seconds in through the nose, ten out through the mouth. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Brenda interrupted them before anything could be said back, “Matty, can you tell me why you came here today?”

“Because he threatened to leave me if I didn’t.”

He was getting into this. It felt kind of good to talk openly like this, get it off his chest rather than continuing to bottle things up that have been under pressure for twenty-three years and are bound to explode one of these days.

“Aside from that, what else?”

“Have some trouble sleeping.”

Ian was still gazing at him in utter confusion and disbelief, “Wait,” Brenda looked up from what she was writing, “I need to know why he didn’t tell me that. Look at me, Mi- Matty.”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders and folded his hands in his lap, “Not really any of your business.”

“Guys, I’d really like to get back on tra-”

“When?”

“When what?”

Ian altered his position so he was sitting on his right foot, completely facing Mickey, “Was it when I left?”

The cork holding his feelings in had been popped off and words were coming out like foaming champagne, “Which time?”

“Ivan, I think we need to calm dow-”

“No, we gotta go. Here’s your money,” he threw a crumpled wad of cash onto the coffee table and stood up, grasping Mickey’s wrist in an attempt to pull him up. “Come on, this was a bad idea.”

Mickey yanked his hand back, “You can go, I’m startin’ like talkin’ to Barbara, here.”

“It’s Brenda.”

“Doesn’t matter, let’s go.”

Ian started walking toward the front door but Mickey remained on the couch, “You drag me here, give me a bullshit lecture about answering questions and being honest, I tell the fuckin’ truth and here you are, runnin’ away again ‘cause shit started to hit the fan.”

He licked his lips and gave a satisfied grin to Ian then stood up and walked over to Brenda, “I’ll be in touch.”

Back in the elevator they went, both on opposing walls, “Told you it’d just make this whole thing worse.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me, huh? Why?”

The box started moving downward, dinging every time it hit a different floor, “Happened after you left for the first time.”

They reached the lobby and didn’t say anything until they were back in the car, instantly sweating from the trapped heat, “When was that?” 

Mickey wiped the newly formed beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, laughing as he did so, “Gonna pretend you didn’t just ask me that.”

Ian waited a second or two to get up the courage to ask again. For some reason, his brain wasn’t working properly after that news and he was pushing Mickey’s buttons, but he needed to know, “When?”

“After the Lana thing,” Mickey settled back into the black, burning leather seats, “you made me feel guilty as fuck over shit I had no control of, I stood on the edge of the building we used to bang at, and I didn’t care if the wind would’ve pushed me over.” He kept his stare on the building’s wall through the windshield, “You happy now?”

Ian mutely started the car, the hot air blowing on their faces slowly transitioning to cold. The drive home was as quiet as the one just a mere twenty minutes earlier. They got home and Ian immediately went to the bathroom, Mickey the kitchen to grab a beer. 

Lana had moved to the couch, feet crossed on the coffee table, “What happened?”

“Nothin’. Where’s Yev?”

“Taking nap.”

Mickey took his typical seat at the kitchen table, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the harsh sting of tears from rising any further than it already had. He blinked a few times to rid himself of any blurriness and noticed a train of smoke growing from where she was sitting, “Can you not smoke in the house, please? Jesus Christ.”

“Never bothered you before.”

“Yeah, well, this ain’t my fuckin’ place, alright? Just do it outside.”

She stubbed the cigarette out on an ashtray she brought from Chicago and went to sit with him, “Do not lie to me. What happened? Why is he in bathroom?”

“Nothing happened,” he finished off his beer in three chugs and burped, “he’s just sad that his plan didn’t work out so great.”

“You have always been shitty liar. Go help him.”

Mickey covered his face with his palms and rubbed up and down, “Things are so fucked right now.”

“What are we going to do?”

“You’re not gonna do anything,” he got up to get another beer, ignoring the fact that it was only one o’clock in the afternoon. “Worst case scenario, he leaves again. Which would be shitty but,” he huffed, “expected.”

Lana met him halfway in the kitchen and snatched the bottle from his hand, taking swig, “Go in there.”

He sighed and swiveled on his feet, entering his room then the bathroom. He heard Ian sniffling and blowing his nose, clearly not from allergies, “Ian?” he pushed the cracked door open to see a red-faced, tear-stained-cheeked, bloodshot-eyed man sitting on the toilet, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. 

Ian looked up and Mickey hadn’t seen him that sad since his depression. Crying for hours on end for absolutely no reason, but this time he had a reason, “Did I really do that to you?”

“No.”

“But you said I did?”

Mickey lowered himself to sit crisscross applesauce between Ian’s legs on the cool, tile floor, “Hey,” he raised a hand to pull his tissue-filled hands away from his face, “look at me.”

He ran his thumb along the high point of Ian’s cheek, “You did not make me do that,” Ian’s chin was trembling like more tears were coming at any second, “Okay? You hear me?”

Ian shook his head, “You said I did.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. There was a lotta shit goin’ on, you know that,” he threw the snot-covered tissues into a tiny garbage can next to him and held both of Ian’s hands between his own. “The Lana thing fucked me up and then the wedding. You leaving right when I needed you was… it was hard, I’m not gonna lie about that, but you need to understand that you did not do anything to make me do what I did.”

It was moments like this when it was painfully clear that arguing with each other was pointless. There was no need to be fighting like cats and dogs because at the end of the day, they are all that matters. Bringing up things from the past or complaining about current problems in such an unstructured way was probably the stupidest thing they could do, especially at this point in their lives. They are they have.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, but” Mickey kissed the back of one of Ian’s hands, “I’m sorry too.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an extra long chapter to make up for lost time!! i'm so sorry it's taken me just short of two months to update, i just needed to figure out where the story was headed and how i wanted to execute it. this problem will probably happen again with the next chapter, so please bear with me. hope you enjoy :)

There was movement in their bed followed by running water. Ian was mid-dream, travelling back to an easier time, a peaceful time. Although it wasn’t reality, it felt as if he had been there before. Sitting at a picnic table across from Mickey, a waterfall flowing down close by. Yev was only a baby, comfortably resting in his stroller, the sounds of wind and river currents slowly lulling him to sleep. 

Ian had put together lunch for the three of them before leaving home, his backpack used to carry it all to their newfound haven. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with apple juice for he and Mickey, a bottle of milk and some Cheerios for Yev. They ate in silence, Mickey gently rolling the stroller back and forth with his foot, rocking the baby in an effort to keep him from waking up. 

Trees surrounded them and provided shade from the blazing sun, keeping them cool under their branches. Other children splashed and frolicked in the body of water, playfully drenching each other in the fresh, icy liquid. The breeze was harsh and forceful, ruffling their hair. The mist leaving their skin sparkling with droplets.

This was bliss. This was paradise. 

Yev had woken up and Mickey fed him his cereal, piece by piece. Ian was lost in admiration when he felt hands caress his shoulders in a gentle, tender manner. He turned his head and his mom was there, stroking his cheeks with nothing short of love and fondness, “My sweet boy.”

Everything was in slow motion, so slow he could feel her along with every detail. She was right there, touching his skin in the soothing way she always did. All he could hear was water and Yev cooing in the background until a familiar voice broke through, somehow entering his dream without pulling him from it, “Hey.”

In reality, his face was pressed against the pillow, scrunching up in confusion as he tried to figure out who was talking to him. Someone shook him slightly which did the trick, making him groan and shift under the sheets, trying to find a more comfortable position on his stomach which wasn’t working. He flipped onto his back and cracked his eyes, using his forearm like a visor, giving them time to adjust to the invasion of light coming from the living room. He blinked until the blurriness subsided and looked up to his left, revealing a coverall-clad Mickey.

Mickey reached out and pushed the stray red strands off Ian’s forehead, not succeeding, though, as they were too kinked to stay put and fell back down to their original position, “I’m goin’ to work.”

Ian gave an unsatisfied grunt and moved onto his right side, facing away from Mickey, and pulled the covers up and over his head to block out the light.

“Come on, I gotta go. Gimme a kiss,” Mickey begged as he tried to pull Ian onto his back to look at him.

Ian gave in and rolled flat against the bed, gazing up with hazy, still partially fuzzy eyes, “Call in sick.”

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

Mickey leaned down and held Ian’s face with both hands, “I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed,” he pressed their lips together and held them in place for a beat, “There ain’t nothin’ in this world for free.” Mickey kissed him once more, patted his cheek jokingly and started to head out of their room.

“Don’t use bullshit lyrics on me right now.”

Mickey looked over his shoulder with a grin, “Gotta go.”

“What time is it?” Mickey was out of sight, forcing Ian to speak a little too loudly for whatever hour this was, especially with Yev and Lana still sleeping in the next room. 

The blinding lights turned off giving Ian some relief and Mickey leaned his head around the doorframe, earbuds slung around his neck in preparation for the long, boring day ahead of him, “Five fifteen.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ian crossed both arms over his face, hoping to fall back into his fantasy immediately.

“See you later, love you.”

“Love you too.”

Ian heard the front door unlock, open, shut, and lock again from the outside. It was pitch black in the house now, sun having not risen yet. He readjusted himself under the covers, folding his pillows in different ways to get into just the right position, hoping to whatever God there is that he could seamlessly step back into his dream without missing a thing.

He fell asleep again, dreaming about unique scenarios set in different time periods during his life. None of which were the utopia he wanted to be transported back to, but he was sleeping and, therefore, was unaware of the dreams he was having. That was until there was a sharp poking in his ribs.

The sun was up now, and if he thought the previous light was capable of burning his corneas to ash, he invented a new level of naïve. He grumbled something incoherently and shimmied himself to the middle of the bed to get away from this constant stabbing he was feeling. 

He felt the bed dip and then there was a weight covering his entire back with soft breathing tickling his neck, “Yev,” Ian sighed out of his nose, voice muffled by his pillow, “Go back to bed.”

“Where’s daddy?”

“Work.”

Yev climbed off him and took it upon himself to tuck his tiny frame under the covers right next to Ian, snuggling into Mickey’s side of the bed. He finally opened his eyes to see the mini Mickey staring back at him with his dad’s grin. He was sure he looked unimpressed and probably a little irritated, but he was tired and wanted to go back to sleep and this whole Yev-sleeps-with-us thing was now a nightly occurrence that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

Ian used as little energy as possible, letting himself roll off the bed making sure his feet planted on the ground as he leaned over the bed to grab Yev’s hand, “C’mon, you gotta go back to your own bed.”

“I wanna sleep with you,” Yev yanked his arm back and scooted further away from his stepdad.

“Yev…” his eyes were heavy and body was not awake enough to be dealing with this, “You’re a big boy, you gotta sleep in your big boy bed. Come on.” He walked around to the opposite side of the bed and Yev moved to where Ian just came from. 

He looked at him and for a moment he saw an adult rather than the four-year-old child he was and gave a death glare of pure annoyance, “Whatever, I’m gonna go sleep in your bed, then.”

As he started stepping out of their room, he heard sheets crumpling and feet pattering on the floor following him. He entered Lana and Yev’s room as quietly as possible, trying his best not to wake the kid’s mom, and fell into the empty bed before being instantly tackled by a small body that latched onto him like a koala.

Ian was caged in: a head on his chest, small hands squeezed under his back to hug him as tight as those baby arms could, and legs on either side of his hips, preventing him from moving at all. He breathed out, defeated, and wrapped his own arms around Yev, rubbing a hand up and down the length of his back. “Alright,” he whispered and they both started fading back into their beauty sleep.

He didn’t know how to parent, he knew how to be a big brother. How to help the kids get away with shit that would piss Fiona off. How to tell his siblings to fuck off when they aggravated him without feeling an ounce of guilt. But this… was different and he couldn’t fuck it up. Yev was pure, he was a clean slate that needed the structure of a household that all three of his parents never had. A home full of love but met with the same amount of discipline, without being violent or harmful in any way shape or form. 

But, he also had to remember that Yev was only a child, not a disobedient teenager taking every opportunity to rebel against his parents. He was four, looking only for security and love. If he wanted to sleep with Ian, so be it. Yev being a soft, kind boy was more than Ian could ask for. 

They remained cozily in that position for a short while, Ian never fully immersing himself in sleep, only drifting in and out. Eventually, he was wide awake and forced to stare at the ceiling and make designs out of the textured paint. If there was one thing he learned from being a big brother that could translate to being a parent, it was to never wake a sleeping baby. So, he waited. And waited. And waited. It made him wonder if Yev had the same problem as Mickey; if he couldn’t sleep unless he has someone else with him. He ran his fingers through Yev’s silky, sandy brown hair, wishing to gradually bring him out of his deep, seeming much needed, sleep. 

Lana was awake and in the kitchen. Ian could hear cupboards being shut, pans clanking against the stove, all noises muffled by the door barricading them from each other. She was singing a song in Russian, sounding cheerier than her usual monotone self. Yev must’ve recognized the music because his eyes popped open, blinking slowly while he pulled his hands out from under Ian and stretched all four limbs until he went limp again, still sprawled out over Ian like a starfish. 

“Morning,” Ian said quietly as Yev angled his head to look at him, chin sitting right above his heart, “Sleep good?”

Yev hummed and nodded his head in response, then yawned directly in Ian’s face, “Ew,” Ian plugged his nose to avoid the aroma he was obviously exaggerating, “You stink.” The kid giggled, pulled Ian’s hand away and forced out another yawn which resulted in the Tickle Monster coming out to play. 

Ian started attacking Yev with his fingertips, tickling him all over until the little man wriggled his way off the bed and started running toward the door, laughing the entire way. 

“I’m gonna get you!” Ian let him have a head start then began chasing after him, entering the kitchen and almost hitting Lana and the pan of eggs she was carrying to the oven. 

Yev hid under the kitchen table, completely thinking Ian didn’t know where he went. He was peeking out with a huge smile on his face while Ian walked around, hands on hips, searching for the boy. He looked behind the curtains, under pillows on the couch, in the low cabinets, all while acting overly stressed out. 

“Lana, have you seen Yev? I can't find him,” Ian asked, still eyeing everywhere in the house except where the kid was. 

“I don’t know, maybe outside?” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Ian started walking toward the sliding glass door, feet passing right by the table, when Yev darted out from his hiding place and sprinted to grab onto Ian’s leg, “I’m right here!”

Both of his arms were wrapped around Ian’s left kneecap, halting him from moving another inch. He reached back with his hand to grasp Yev’s head and twisted around to pick him up, “Yev!” 

He swayed back and forth, wrapping the entire length of his arms around the boy, “I thought we lost you forever.” 

Yev pulled back from where he was snuggled in Ian’s chest, and pointed toward the table, “I was under there the whole time.”

“No way, I thought you disappeared.”

“I tricked you.”

“Yes, you did,” Ian positioned Yev to hold him with one arm, bringing the free one up to tickle him again. He tossed him lightly on the couch and dragged his fingers all over, getting violent laughs from Yev until he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Stop, daddy! Stop!”

Ian instantly pulled back, startled by the unexpected name. He looked toward Lana to see if she noticed, but she was oblivious, pulling three plates out of the cupboard to serve breakfast. Yev sat upright on the couch and focused on the cartoons playing on T.V, blissfully unware of what he had just said and how much it affected Ian. 

“It is ready,” Lana called out to the two boys, putting her years of bartending to good use and carrying three glasses of orange juice with one hand, three servings of food with her other.

Should he tell her? Mickey? Explain to Yev that he’s not his dad? Ian kept telling himself that it was probably just a slip up and the kid probably didn’t mean anything by it. But… if he did? He’d been in Yev’s current life for barely six days. How had he gone from a stranger to daddy in six days? 

“Yevgeny, now.”

Ian put the swirling thoughts to the back of his mind and tousled Yev’s hair to get his attention, “C’mon, bud.”

Yev grudgingly pulled his focus away from the T.V and trailed behind Ian to the table, taking a set in what had become _his_ chair. 

“Puffy eggs! I haven’t had these in years,” Ian dove in and shoveled a heaping spoonful into his mouth, followed by a few bites of bacon.

“How long have you known mommy?” Yev looked up at him with curious eyes, just barely peeking over his glass of O.J. 

Ian held up his index finger to silently tell him to wait a second while he chewed and swallowed, “I’ve known her since you were in her belly,” he could see Lana nodding her head out of the corner of his eyes, “And I’ve known your dad since I was your age.”

“You knew him when you were four?”

“Yep,” Ian took a swig of his own juice, “I was four and he was six.”

Yev went quiet and returned to eating his breakfast, seemingly content. Lana had asked what they were going to do today, with it being their first day without Mickey and all. Ian told her that they were going to get a dresser for their room and maybe some more toys for Yev, hoping some more stuffed animals would cure his fear of sleeping alone.

After they ate, Lana got Yev changed into some shorts and a blue tank top, making his resemblance to Mickey even more uncanny. While Lana got herself ready on one side of the bathroom, Ian had Yev sit on the counter and spiked his hair up with gel, much to his mom’s dismay. 

Ian pulled the white capped, yellow bottle out of the cabinet and poured out his daily amount. Yev pulled his hand down to see what was hiding behind his closed fist and forced his fingers open, “What are those?”

“It’s my medicine,” he popped the pills into his mouth and leaned over the sink to wash them down with some water, straight from the faucet. 

“Do you have an owie?” 

Ian wiped his mouth of excess water with the back of his hand and put the bottle away, “No, I don’t have an owie.” 

“Then why do you take medicine?” Yev said, ignoring the ‘d’ sound and slurring the word down to two syllables. 

Lana glanced over to Ian, not wanting him to worry her son, “I take medicine so I don’t get sick.” 

Yev’s brows were knitted together, just like Mickey’s. His face expressed every aspect of confusion without even knowing it, “Do I need to take stuff so I don’t get sick?”

“No, bud,” Ian shook his head and fidgeted with Yev’s hair, fixing the pieces that had gone limp, “You’re strong like your dad, you’ll be just fi-“

He was cut off by Lana interrupting him with a cough, “His mother is strong too.”

Both boys laughed and Ian nodded in agreement, “Yes, she is. Come on, we gotta go,” Ian picked Yev up and placed him back on the ground, the kid running out into the living room.

Ian copied Mickey’s habits, doublechecking that he locked every window, then the front door after he shuffled the other two out to the car. Lana got into the passenger seat and Ian went to buckle Yev in when he saw the first problem of their day, “Shit.”

“Mommy, Ian said a swear word.”

“Yev, go sit on you mom’s lap,” he ordered the kid and pulled his phone out to call Mickey. 

The phone rang for longer than usual, but his hands were probably soaked in grease and oil, so it was understandable, “Hey, what’s up?”

“How do I get to your work?” Ian leaned back onto the car, facing the breeze, the still cool morning air rustling his hair. 

“Why, what happened?” there was some worry in his voice, some concern, “Is everything okay?”

“No, we’re all good. I was gonna take them to get a dresser for their room, but you have the car seat.”

“Shit.”

“That’s what I said,” he let out a huff into the speaker, “Yev called me out on it.”

Mickey chuckled, “Yeah, Mary Poppins, you’re supposed to be the good parent while me and Lana get to fuck around and ruin the kid for life.” 

“Ha ha, very funny. I gotta talk to you about that later, actually. Anyway, where do I go?”

Ian jotted down the directions in his head, trying to imagine the route without needing anything written. Mickey named a couple turns, some intersections, and eventually he’d reach a dirt road that looks like it wouldn’t lead anywhere, but to keep going and he’d find it no problem.

“Alright, see you in a couple minutes.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

Yev was comfortably situated on Lana’s lap, both strapped in by the same belt. Ian was gonna fight it, tell the kid to get in the back, but he didn’t wanna always be the Mary Poppins unfun parent. Safety occasionally needed to be put on the backburner. He had learned that very early on living with a family like his.

Ian drove around, checking off each landmark in his head and eventually hit the dirt road. There was a sign at the entrance with cartoon cars and a man photoshopped in between them. “TIENDA DE AUTOMÓVILES GOMEZ” was written in bright, bold, yellow letters along the top of the board, curved like a rainbow. 

The car created a cloud of dust as it traveled, Yev bouncing up and down and side to side as Ian unintentionally failed to avoid potholes. The kid wasn’t complaining, though. In fact, he was laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever experienced. 

Ian caught a glimpse of Mickey’s car and pulled in next to him, “‘Kay, you guys stay here. I’ll be right back.” 

“I wanna go!” Yev struggled to get out of his restraint, yanking and pulling on it until Lana pressed down on the red button to release it. He climbed over into the driver’s seat and jumped down onto the ground, making a puff of sand mixed with dust and dirt arise around his ankles. He held his arms up for Ian to pick him up, and Ian obliged. Fun parent, right?

He bent over to duck his head into the car, “You good in here?”

Lana opened her door and stepped out, ignoring his question entirely. 

“Jesus Christ,” Ian mumbled under his breath.

They headed into the garage, Yev still clinging onto Ian’s side. There were a few people staring at them, justifiably, as they looked completely out of place. 

Ian looked around, trying to find the one familiar face. Without any luck, he took it upon himself to speak out, “Mickey?” 

Not too far ahead of where they were standing, someone yelled from under a car, “Over here!” 

The two adults and one anxious child started toward the voice. Just as they reached the feet and bent knees of the person, Mickey rolled out on a creeper, covered in black liquid from head to toe. He caught Ian’s eyes first, silently saying, “Why did you bring them in here.”

Even through the grease caked on his skin, Yev recognized him instantly, “Daddy!” He wriggled and fought against Ian’s still firm grip, keeping him from falling head first onto the concrete. 

Mickey stood up and took a what used to be white turned black rag from his back pocket and wiped his face, not doing anything to remove the grease at all, just smearing it around. His son started reaching out to him, grumbling incoherently, “No, Yev, stay up there.”

“Yevengy, enough,” Lana demanded, and Yev listened. Two words from his mom was all it took for him to stop acting out. 

“I gotta go upstairs to get my keys, I’ll be right back.”

Mickey started running up the wooden flight to what Ian assumed was the boss’ office, skipping every other step to quicken his pace. Before Mickey was even out of sight, Yev started groaning again, combined with him trying to pry himself out of Ian’s grasp.

Ian wrestled with him, trying to keep a strong hold on him until he looked pleadingly at Lana to get him to stop.

“Yevgeny.” 

He stopped squirming and let out a frustrated huff through his nose, crossing his arms with his brows furrowed. Moms are the worst. 

They were standing there awkwardly for longer than expected, but none of them knew what was up there or where their beloved ex-husband, boyfriend and father went. That was until Mickey came back down the stairs, followed by a short, stocky man with hair as black as the man in front of him. Ian and Mickey locked eyes, the latter looking slightly distressed and uncomfortable.

“Um,” Mickey crossed his arms, just like his son, and teetered on his feet, “This is my boss, Eric. Eric, this is, uh,” he stammered, trying to figure out which one of these strangers he would be safest introducing first, “This is my son, Yev,” he motioned to the stubborn kid with his head rested on Ian’s shoulder in defeat, “This is Yev’s mom, Svetlana,” he looked toward Ian and, even if he couldn’t see himself, he knew he looked just as petrified as he did when he came out to his father, “And that’s my boyfriend, Ian.”

Eric had a pencil moustache and dark eyes, but overall looked like a friendly guy. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back until he reached out to shake Lana’s hand, “Nice you meet you,” he tried to shake Ian’s hand as well, but his right hand was holding Yev and the tension coming from Mickey alone was enough to make the whole atmosphere thick. Ian just grinned and dipped his head down to acknowledge the advance. 

“Mikhailo, you never told me you had a family. I thought your vistors were parents or something,” he could tell Mickey felt nauseous just by the look on his face, so he grabbed his shoulder and shook him a little to reassure him that it was okay, “I assume you guys are taking good care of the house, right? No drawing on the walls?” He ran a finger along Yev’s cheek, making the kid blush from his Ian-inherited shyness and turn his face in the opposite direction. 

“Nah, he’s a good kid,” Mickey let himself breathe a sigh of relief, “They’re gonna be staying with me a little longer than I told you.”

“That’s fine, no worries.” 

No one was saying anything else, everyone in the Milkovich-Gallagher-Fisher clan wanting this interaction to be over as soon as possible. 

“Oh!” Eric said with a shocking amount of enthusiasm, nearly scaring everybody with a loud clap, “You all have to come to dinner one night. I’ll get Bella to make those tamales you like, Mikhailo.”

Mickey shook his head and stared down at his feet, “Nah, I don’t think that’s a good idea, man.” 

“Fine, you can cook for us,” the guy laughed and started heading back up to his office, “We’ll come by on Saturday. Nice to meet you all!” 

Ian and Lana waved back right as he disappeared. 

“God fucking dammit,” Mickey rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, his thumb pressed into his temple, “Whatever, let’s get the seat.” 

Once they were out of the dangers of cars and tools, Ian stupidly let Yev back onto the ground, giving the kid free reign to cling onto Mickey’s leg in which he instantly soaked his clean clothes in black grease.

Mickey was forced to stop in his tracks, letting his head fall back in irritation and almost dropping his keys, “Yev, get off me, please.”

He felt Yev shake his head and squeeze tighter around his thigh. He tried to start walking again and Yev moved his feet to stand on Mickey’s shoe. He wobbled his way to the car and pulled the seat out, handing it to Ian who left to set it up in the other car. 

Mickey, know not caring about getting Yev dirty, reached down with both hands and pulled the kid off him under his armpits. He squatted down before Yev could grab on again, “Hey, look at me,” the kid was battling him, refusing to stay still, “Yev, look at me,” Mickey forcefully grabbed his arms to stop him from moving, “What did I tell you about whining and complaining? Huh?”

Yev kept his eyes glued to his dust-covered Converse and shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I said,” he took one hand to tilt Yev’s chin up to make him give eye contact. His voice was serious yet calm, stern yet forgiving, “What did I say?”

Yev barely opened his mouth to speak, the words coming out jumbled and unintelligible, “Don’t do it.”

“That’s right, now go get your seat, alright? I’m gonna be home later, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Yev come closer to him and gave him a hug, wrapping both arms securely around Mickey’s neck, “Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise,” he patted Yev’s back a couple times to comfort him in hopes they could part ways without another blowout, “I gotta go back to work, okay? I’ll see you later.”

Mickey kissed Yev on the cheek and sent him off with no other problem. He watched as Ian buckled him in and tightened the straps to make sure he wouldn’t shift around too much, especially with all those potholes. 

“Why don’t you back me up when shit like that happens?” Mickey asked Lana who was blocking the sun from her eyes with one hand, a cigarette in the other.

“You are father, you need to be parent. He needs to respect you.” 

Mickey wiped the newly formed beads of sweat off his head with the sleeve of his coveralls, “Yeah, but he listens to you. He doesn’t know who the fuck I am, he’s never gonna listen to me.”

“You think he came out of womb listening to me?”

Mickey plucked the cigarette from her fingers and took a drag, not caring that there was red lipstick on the filter, “I don’t know?” 

“No, he didn’t. You did good job, it just takes time. Babies are babies, they don’t listen,” she stole the cig back from him.

Ian came walking back over, “Lana, we gotta go.”

She dropped the cancer stick and crushed it with her sandal, extinguishing the flame. She looked back and forth between the two men and rolled her eyes before heading back to the car to be with Yev. 

“What’d you wanna talk to me about?” 

“Nothing,” Ian postponed the whole you-son-called-me-daddy thing, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay?” Mickey grinned and pulled him in for a midday kiss, just something to get him through the rest of the day. Fresh nicotine mixed with fading mint, lips lingered for far too long. It was crazy, Mickey thought, how one person, one kiss, could calm his nerves so instantaneously. Years had passed and yet Ian was his angel of release, someone who got to his core without even trying. 

“Gotta go,” Ian pressed one final kiss to Mickey’s lips and stepped away, walking backwards to keep their eyes locked until he bumped into the car with the rest of their family waiting. 

Mickey stayed outside until the car was just a tiny dot on the horizon, putting off going back to work for as long as he could. He wanted to be there with them, doing day to day things like a normal family, but money had to be made, people had to eat. He was a family man now, and deep down he was growing more okay with that.

The drive to the store was filled with children’s music blasting through the speakers to drown out everyone’s singing along. Lana had her legs stretched out, feet crossed on the dashboard with her window cracked to let her smoke escape. 

Yev had unbuckled himself before they even parked, wanting nothing more to be out of this god forsaken car. After they came to a stop, he flung his door open and jumped out, careful not to run into traffic like his mom had engrained into his memory. 

Ian picked him up and put him on his shoulders, ignoring how dirty he looked with dried grease covering his shirt, and grasped firmly on his ankles to keep the kid from falling backwards. Yev carded his fingers through Ian’s hair and tugged slightly to keep himself balanced. 

“Which one?” Ian asked Lana in front of the display of different wooden dressers. There were plain ones, some painted black or white and a couple brown. Lana walked around each one, inspecting it like she knew anything about build quality. 

“This one,” she pulled the drawers out on a white one, making sure there was enough space for both her and Yev’s clothes to fit. 

Ian twisted his head to the side and angled his eyes upward to look at Yev, “You like it?” He was met with a nod and a smile.

They spoke with an employee and scheduled it for delivery on Wednesday. Yev was still seated on Ian’s shoulders, nearly being put to sleep by Ian switching his weight from foot to foot, rocking back and forth like a he was caught on a wave.

Ian insisted on heading toward the décor department to get Yev something to help him sleep, but Lana won the battle by reminding him of just how many toys they brought from Chicago and how little space they had in the house. 

So, they headed home. Yev had fallen asleep with his neck kinked to the side, Lana dozed off here and there as well, waking herself up whenever her head fell forward. Ian had the radio turned down low, humming along to whatever Spanish song came in clearly.

He stopped at the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner, leaving the windows cracked so Lana and Yev could continue their nap. He tossed some things into a handheld basket, taking his sweet time to relish in the cool, air conditioned building before the inevitable walk back to the car. 

Almost everything was in Spanish, so he had to rely on labels, fonts and pictures to determine what was what. He picked up some chips, eggs and Tabasco- strictly because he noticed Mickey was running out, along with some potatoes, an onion, ground beef, hamburger buns, and sliced cheese. Clearly, he had a craving. 

When he reached the counter, the woman behind the register lit up, almost like she had known Ian for months. She scanned everything but paused to chuckle when she got to the container of barbeque Pringles, “I have a regular who buys one of these every morning before he goes to work,” she put the tube on top of everything else in the bag as Ian smiled and pulled cash out of his pocket.

“Yeah, they’re not for me. More of a salt and vinegar kinda guy,” he handed her the money and waited for the receipt to be spit out of the machine.

She ripped it off and stuffed it in the bag with the rest of his items, “Are you new around here? Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here.”

“Just moved here about two weeks ago, actually,” he took the bag as he handed it to him over the counter and let it fall to hang beside his leg, “I gotta go, though, I have a kid in the car. Thank you for this,” he just barely lifted the hefty bag up, nodded toward it then her and waved goodbye.

He left obliviously unaware that he would be cooking dinner for that same woman and her husband on Saturday.

“Hey,” he shook Lana’s knee, “We’re home.” 

She stretched out as best she could in such a small space and rubbed her eyes, unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out into the blazing sun, but was suddenly met with a gust of cool, salty ocean air. 

“Here, you get this, I’ll get him,” Ian transferred the bag from his hand to hers, slipping the house hey into her free grasp. He went back around to the driver’s side and carefully unbuckled Yev, pulling him up gently from his seat and immediately letting the still sleeping child flop onto his chest, head resting on his shoulder- a repeat of this morning, but vertical. 

They relaxed inside for the rest of the day, all realizing just how bored life without Mickey is gonna get. Yev was going stir-crazy, wide awake after his nap now that Ian wanted to doze off, even for only a few minutes. 

Lana tried making him lunch, he didn’t want it. She tried playing trucks with him, he threw a fit and only wanted Ian to play. She got him in his swimsuit to go play on the beach, he changed his mind and wanted to eat lunch. It was hours of trying to occupy a restless four-year-old with little to no resources; also, known as impossible. 

“We gotta get him into preschool or something,” Ian rubbed at his forehead, the anticipation of Mickey coming home getting the best of him, “There’s no way he’s gonna be like this all the time, right?”

She looked at him blankly and shook her head, nursing a beer, “He is four. His little brain is like hummingbird, it never stops.” 

“That’s my point, he needs to be around kids his age,” they watched Yev from the kitchen table as he sat cuddled up on the chair watching Paw Patrol translated to Spanish, still in his swimsuit after refusing to take it off, “He needs to learn the ABCs and shit.”

“I can do the ABCs,” Yev shot back, unexpectedly.

Lana and Ian both laughed at the response, realizing what they already knew: he’s a sponge. He hears everything. “God, he’s so much like his dad,” Ian whispered.

“You are telling me,” Lana took the last sip of her now empty beer and stood up to get another, “You are brand new to his games, he has been Mickey since birth.” She placed two new drinks on the table and plopped back down, settling into her chair, “And no school. He goes to school, we get caught.”

Ian let that reality sink in for a moment. This kid had two parents running from the feds and another that would be put away for who knows how long if anyone found out he was harboring said parents. This innocent, sweet, smart-alecky child was in the middle of a sticky mess and no one, not even the three people who are supposed to protect him, could get him or themselves out of it. What was going to happen when Yev gets older and starts asking questions? When he begins wondering why he never went to school, or why he and his one Ukrainian dad, one Irish dad and one Russian mom live in Mexico of all places? 

They knocked back a couple more beers as the blue sky began to fade into a dark orange shade and Yev had his fair share of juice, all wanting nothing more than for Mickey to walk through the door and bring some light and energy to the party. And then he did. 

As soon as Yev heard the lock on the front door being messed with, he bolted to the entryway and fumbled with the handle until it opened. He went straight for Mickey’s legs to give him a big bear hug, but was held back by his dad’s hands pressed against his shoulders, “Don’t touch me, Yev. I’m all dirty,” he stepped back and to the side, disappointed.

Mickey came in and threw what filled his pockets on the counter, sluggishly walking to get a much needed and deserved drink from the fridge. He grabbed the last one and groaned, knowing someone, most likely him, would have to make another run to the store. There was no way he was gonna be able to go without booze to take todays edge off.

“I hate my job,” he flicked the lid off with a bottle opener and stuck it back onto the fridge with a magnet, “I fucking hate my job.”

“Aw, honey, we missed you too,” Ian said sarcastically. He came toward Mickey and wet a dish towel under the sink, using it to tentatively scrub the black gunk off his face. 

“This bitch comes in last week sayin’ her brakes are shot, right? So, I take a look and there’s nothin’ wrong with ‘em, they look brand fuckin’ new,” he closed his eyes as some water dripped down into them from his forehead, letting Ian wash away the residue of his day, “Then, she comes back in today tellin’ my boss that I ruined her car and that she almost crashed ‘cause I didn’t fix her brakes which is bullshit, ‘cause there was nothing to fucking fix,” Ian just hummed and nodded, “So, Eric brings me into his office and starts yellin’ at me, sayin’ I’m a law suit waitin’ to happen, that I need to do a better job, as if I’m not the only one there who gives a shit about what the fuck happens around there. I’m the only one who does anything, the other guys just sit around on their asses all day, flippin’ through Playboys, while I’m under every car doin’ their job for them while I get paid jack shit.”

“Mhm,” Ian’s eyes were focused on his eyebrows, putting some more pressure on them to scrub away anything left over, “So, what happened?”

“I told Eric that whatever her problem was, it wasn’t her brakes, ‘cause I know what worn out brake pads look like, and those weren’t it. So, anyway, he checked the car himself and turns out it was the master cylinder and not the pads, like I said.”

“I wish I knew what any of that meant,” Ian rung out the towel and wet it again, to do a final polish on Mickey’s now clean skin.

Mickey was calmer now, his voice no longer rough and angry, “Anyways, he apologized and told me to come in late tomorrow ‘cause he knew I was pissed the fuck off. Gonna go in at noon instead of at the ass-crack of dawn.”

He unzipped his coveralls down to his waist, revealing only a wife-beater, and let the cool air finally touch his skin after being depraved of it for twelve hours.

Mickey broke free of the conversation, went into his and Ian’s room, pulled his clothes off entirely and covered his bottom half in some sweats, just like every other night. He washed his hands vigorously, getting every last bit of black nastiness off his skin. 

Gray, diluted water swirled around the sink and he kept cleaning until it ran clear. He dried his hands and realized Yev disappeared during his rant. He headed back out to the living room and checked the couch and chairs, no sign of the boy. Then, he turned around and saw that Yev and Lana’s door was shut, so he slowly turned the knob and pushed in until there was enough room for him to peek his head in. 

Yev was lying stomach down on his bed with his face pointed away from Mickey and toward the wall, “You okay, bud?”

He shuffled on the sheets and covered his head with a pillow, trying to block out his dad. Mickey entered the room and shut the door behind him. He came up to the side of Yev’s bed squatted down to be eye level with his son. He tried to pull the pillow off his head, but the kid fought back and kept it glued in place, “Yev, what’s wrong?”

“You’re mad at me,” Yev responded, he quiet voice muffled by the pillow.

“No, I’m not?” Mickey yanked what was shielding Yev away and forced him to hear him clearly, “Why do you think I’m mad at you?”

Yev sat up and sat crisscross applesauce, head falling down to avoid making eye contact, “You didn’t let me hug you and you said a bunch of bad words.” 

This was terrifying. He had scared his kid to the point of isolation, just like his dad did to him. Nothing physical happened, nothing major at all, but that wasn’t the point. He now knew that acting cold, even in the most frivolous way, put Yev in the same mindset he encountered day after day as a kid. Pigs would fly before he would ever put this kid through this again.

“I just had a bad day,” Mickey pushed the hair away from Yev’s forehead and tilted his neck back to look at him all in one motion, “I’m not mad at you, I promise. That’s why I came in here, I want my hug now. Look,” he indicated toward his now grease-free body, “I’m all clean now.”

That made the corners of Yev’s mouth tug up a bit, smiling only slightly. He lurched forward and hugged Mickey’s neck and was lifted when his dad stood up, taking the opportunity to wrap his legs around waist to give him the biggest, tightest hug either had ever felt.

“You wanna go to the store with me?” Yev nodded his head and Mickey exited the room, kid still clung onto him, “Alright.”

He told Lana and Ian they’d be back in a couple minutes, snatched the keys to his old car, some spare cash off the counter and headed out. Yev wiggled out of his grip to run to the already unlocked car and got himself buckled in record time, beyond thrilled to spend some alone time with his dad for the first time.

Mickey got behind the wheel and felt like he was transported back in time. The last time he had driven this car was with Ian’s family to the jail, only to find out the former left with Monica. It took him a beat or two to pull himself out of his head, out of the gut-wrenching memory. Yev kicking the back of his seat did the trick and shook him out of it. He started the car and began the short journey to Bella’s store. 

“Hey, Bella,” Mickey walked in holding Yev’s hand.

“Mikhailo!” Bella stood up from her chair and leaned over the counter to get a better view of the tiny body standing next to Mickey, partially hiding his face behind his dad’s thigh, “Who’s this?”

“This is my son, Yev.”

“Yev?” she questioned, eyebrows knitting together and arching all at once.

“Yevgeny, but it’s kind of a mouthful. Mom’s Russian.” 

“Well, nice to meet you, Yevgeny,” she smiled and waved, only making the kid more nervous.

Mickey held Yev’s head close to his leg and scratched through his hair, “Can you say hi?” Yev shook his head and concealed his face completely, not letting the woman get another glance at him. She and Mickey both laughed a bit, “He’s kinda shy. We’re lookin’ like a couple of winners tonight, though, huh?” 

He was wearing a white tank top with his same gray sweats and sunglasses propped up on his head, Yev still wearing only his Spiderman swim trunks, both in sandals. Mickey started leading the boy down an aisle and Bella gave a quick two thumbs up. 

Yev loosened up as they got further away from Bella, letting go of his dad’s leg to walk freely. Mickey chose his signature beer and looked down at Yev curiously, “You want anything?” 

That may have been a bad question to ask a four-year-old. It gave him free reign to take everything in sight, carrying it all in his tiny arms. Whatever fell out, Mickey put back on the shelf before he could realize something was missing. 

He sat his beer on the counter, then picked Yev up under the armpits to let him dump everything he was holding. He kept Yev on his hip to make him confront Bella, to be brave and not let his fear hold him back.

“Whoa, your dad’s pretty cool, huh?” Yev nodded, more confidently than before. Bella scanned each piece of candy, a bouncy ball, some chocolate milk, and a Lunchable, ending with the beer, “Two seventy.”

Mickey pulled a crumpled hundred out of his pocket and tossed it her way, “I’ll bring the rest tomorrow. Goin’ in late, though.”

“Why?” she took the money and put it in the till as the receipt inched its way out. 

“Long story, Eric’ll tell ya,” he took the bag of tricks from her, “You’re comin’ to the house on Saturday for dinner, by the way. Your loving husband insisted,” he said sarcastically but without any heat.

“How sweet of him,” she grinned back, “That’ll be nice.”

“I’m sure,” he started heading toward the double doors, “See you tomorrow. Say bye, Yev.”

Yev turned his head toward her and waved, “Bye!”

As he stepped outside, his eyes caught onto the from yesterday. The guy he fucked once and never wanted to see again. He was leaning against the trunk of his car, clearly waiting for Mickey to come out. He set Yev down on the ground, unlocked the car, put the bag in the front seat and opened the back door for Yev to get in, “Get buckled, stay in here. I’ll be right back.”

“I wanna go-”

“Yev, stay in here,” he said with much more conviction to get his seriousness across, hoping to whatever God there is he didn’t just scare his kid again, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

The boy sat back and latched the straps together to keep his body secure in his seat and Mickey shut the door so he didn’t have to hear any part of what was about to be said.

There were witnesses, so, as much as he wanted to, Mickey couldn’t punch the shit out of this guy. But, the guy couldn’t hurt him either. They started walking toward each other, meeting in the middle of the parking lot, “You fucking stalking me now? Huh?”

He got a laugh out of the other, and much bigger, man, “What, am I not allowed to shop here?”

“I told you to stay the fuck away from me.”

“Who’s the kid?” the guy looked over Mickey’s shoulder, “I knew you liked ‘em young, but…” 

Mickey’s blood was boiling, his neck was turning a pale shade of red and he wanted nothing more than to knock this guy on his ass and beat him to a pulp. Witnesses, he repeated to himself, witnesses, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Daddy?”

He turned around instantly and covered Yev’s ears with his hands, twisting his head around to face the guy again, “Leave me the fuck alone,” he emphasized each word with more anger than the last.

He took his hands off Yev’s head and pushed him along back to the car. Yev got himself back into his seat, Mickey tossed the bag of everything he just purchased to the passenger side and got behind the wheel once again, “Yev, I told you not to get out of the car.”

It was clear the kid could feel his dad’s frustration. He stumbled on his words, trying his best to explain himself, “I’m s-sorry, I just…needed to tell you that-”

“No, you listen to me when I tell you to do something,” Mickey started the engine but didn’t move to put the car into drive. He kept his vision straight ahead, trying to control his temper and breathing, “If I say stay in the car, you stay in the car.”

Yev was silent for a beat, then there was whimpering coming from the backseat. Whimpering turned to sniffling turned to sobbing before Mickey could stop it. His chin was twitching and tears streamed down his face as he tried to form a sentence, “I- I just need- need to go p-potty.”

Mickey could feel his own set of tears burning in the back of his eyes. He pressed his palms into them to keep the dam from breaking and took steady breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. God, he didn’t want to turn into his father, but maybe it was too late to break the cycle. He put the car into drive and left a cloud of dust in the parking lot, hoping to fill that guy’s lungs with enough sand so he’s never live to see another day. 

Halfway home, the crying had subsided. It was uncomfortably silent in a way that made Mickey’s skin crawl. It was the silence he’d be in after his dad went ape-shit on him, or anyone else who was within arm’s reach. The silence when he’d leave the house to go drink himself into the ground and everyone else would be left to pick up the pieces of broken glass, wipe up the blood, put picture frames back on the mantle. No one knew what to say during those times, so no one said anything. And because no one said anything, the cycle continued. He had to be the one to break it.

“Yev,” he looked in the rear-view mirror, barely catching a glimpse of the puffy-eyed child with rosy cheeks, “I’m sorry.”

The kid didn’t reply, just wiped his nose with the back of his hand and rubbed his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that,” he kept switching his focus from the road to the mirror, eventually seeing Yev looking back at him, “You just gotta remember that I’m your dad, okay? You could’ve gotten hurt out there, I just wanted you to be safe in the car.”

A soft, innocent voice spoke back, “I looked both ways for cars before I crossed the street.”

Mickey couldn’t help but smile, incapable of processing how this human was half of himself. He pictured himself as a kid and thought about how if someone had talked to him after a blow-up, maybe he wouldn’t have been so eager to fight back against everyone and everything. Maybe, just maybe, he’d have stayed a calm, content kid like Yev currently was. 

“That’s good, bud,” he actually turned his head to the side, unable to see Yev, but Yev could see his profile, “But I want you to know I’m sorry.” 

Yev looked out the window as the houses passed by, nearing the ocean and their home, “I’m sorry too.”

“I love you, Yev. You know that, right?”

The kid understood and nodded his head in a silent acceptance, “I love you too.”

They pulled into the driveway and got out of the car at the same time, Mickey blocked Yev from going toward the front door, “Gimme a hug, c’mere.”

He knelt down and embraced the boys fragile frame, giving all his love through one cuddle. He was not his father, he would never be his father. He was a new parent who would, undoubtedly, make mistakes and learn from them for the rest of his life. But, in no way does that make him an inheritor to Terry’s evil and malicious ideas of what being a dad was. 

Yev could be anything, do anything, and Mickey would love him unconditionally. He came out of such an unfortunate situation, but that didn’t matter. He was here now, he couldn’t turn back time to make things happen differently. And, honestly, Mickey didn’t know if he would change things if he had the chance. Maybe the setting in which he was conceived, but not him being alive. Not at all.

Mickey kissed the top of Yev’s head before pulling away and letting the kid run back inside to be with his other two parents, soon following behind with the bag containing what he went there for, beer, and an excess amount of unnecessary things that should still be sitting on shelves in Bella’s store. 

As soon as he walked inside, a wave of cooking meat hit him and he felt like he was home, “Goddamn, smells so good?”

“Burgers!” Ian yelled back, raising his voice above the sizzling beef mixed with a fan to pull the smoke out of the house.

Mickey grunted and emptied his loot out the counter, “Fuuuuuck, American food.” He was safe to use a bad word, Yev had gone to the bathroom immediately after their hug.

“The hell’s all this?” Ian signaled to the candy with his spatula.

Mickey collected the sugary sweets and put them in a high cupboard to be eaten later by the adults. Out of Yev’s sight, out of Yev’s mind. He put the beer and processed lunch in the fridge, “It’s what I get for asking him if he wanted anything, that’s what it is.”

Ian assembled everyone’s burgers, Mickey’s extra rare, just how he likes it, and they ate together in their usual spots. Lana did bath time with Yev and got him all cozy in his PJs, then brought the two men into his room to say goodnight. Ian rummaged through the bags brought from Chicago and found different stuffed animals to protect and keep Yev company while he sleeps. 

“Which one?” he held up a shaggy, brown bear with a red, checkered ribbon tied around its neck in one hand and floppy, gray bunny with pink ears just as long as its body.

Yev had the covers pulled up to his chin, arms hidden from view, “Bunny.”

Ian tossed the animal to Mickey who then tucked it under the sheets with him, head poking out by Yev’s shoulder, “There,” he slipped the blanket under the side of the bunny and did the same to Yev’s left side, squeezing them together like a burrito, “You’re gonna sleep in here through the night, right?”

Yev nodded and all three parents took turns kissing his forehead. They turned the ceiling light off, causing the night light to illuminate the room just enough. They backed out of the room, closing the door and leaving their son to sleep soundly. 

Ian started cleaning up the mess he made in the kitchen as soundlessly as he could. Mickey and Lana glued themselves to the couch and just sat in silence, sipping their drinks. Ian came and occupied the vacant chair after starting the dishwasher, only the humming coming from the machine filling the air. 

“I gotta talk to you guys about something,” Ian started, making Mickey sit up from his previous slouched position. 

“What’s up?” 

Ian fidgeted with his fingers, not knowing exactly how to start the conversation, “Um… First, I just wanna say that, uh-”

“What, are you leavin’ again?” Mickey said with a chuckle and reached out to slap Ian’s knee playfully.

“No,” Ian replied quickly, sure to make it clear he was here to stay, “No, I’m not leaving. But, um… I just want you,” he tipped his head to Mickey, “To know that I’m not trying to take your spot in Yev’s life.”

Mickey huffed a laugh and brought his brows together in confusion, “Okay? No one said you were.”

“I know, but this morning when I was playing with him, when you were making breakfast,” he averted his focus to Lana, “I was tickling him and he was laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath and-”

“Jesus Christ, man, spit it out,” Mickey encouraged him eagerly.

“He called me daddy.”

Mickey and Lana looked at him with blank expressions, not moving at all. Words started pouring out of Ian’s mouth like a waterfall, “And I don’t want you to think that I’m, like, trying to become his new dad, ‘cause you’re his dad and you’ll always be his dad and I’m sure it was just a slip up, but-”

“That’s it?” Mickey questioned, his lips now turning up into a smile. He and Lana started laughing, confusing Ian as to what part of this was funny. He was trying to be serious and have a grownup conversation about their son, but, apparently, it wasn’t working.

“Why are you laughing?”

Mickey put his bottle on a coaster and fell backward, settling into the couch with a hand on his stomach as the giggled kept coming. He gave himself a moment to collect himself before speaking again, “Fuck, I thought it somethin’ important.”

Lana had covered her eyes with her hand and was shaking her head with a wide grin spread across her face. 

“It is important, I don’t understand…”

“I don’t give a shit if he calls you dad, Ian,” Mickey sat back up and nonchalantly took another sip of his beer, “You took care of him as a baby, you’re taking care of him now, you’re his dad too.”

Ian looked at him was timid eyes, “I am?”

“Hell, yeah. You’ve been more of a dad to him than I have,” he rested his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle between his legs, “He only calls me dad because I’m on his birth certificate. I bet he called Kev dad too, it’s not a big deal.”

“What about you?” Ian looked at Lana, waiting for her final verdict. 

“I heard him this morning. I thought he already called you dad, that is why I didn’t respond.” 

Ian let himself smile and relax back into his chair, his tense muscles loosing, “You guys really don’t care?”

“No,” Mickey and Lana spoke in sync. 

Mickey stood up and grabbed the empty bottles, taking them to the trash, “When you said you had to talk to me this morning, I swear I thought you were gonna leave again. Thought about it all day,” he bent over to gently set them in the bin, not wanting the glass to wake Yev up, “And then you pulled the whole ‘we’ll talk later’ bit and I thought that was it. I was ready for your bags to be packed when I got home.”

Ian let that sink in. Let the fact that he had hurt Mickey so much, left him alone so many times, that he didn’t trust him at all not to leave again. He knew Mickey worried about it, hell, anyone would, but to know that he thought Ian would actually leave him high and dry again? That hurt.

“Nope, you’re both stuck with me forever,” Ian stood up and met Mickey halfway while he was on his way back to the couch, “We’re going to bed.”

“Please do not wake Yevgeny,” Lana rubbed her forehead in disgust.

Mickey was being dragged along by the wrist, but turned his head to get the last word in, “Your snoring seems to do the trick just fine.”

He saw her flip him off just before the door shut behind the two men. 

Ian caged him in against the door and latched his lips to Mickey’s neck, snaking a hand behind the latter to lock the door, specifically so no kids could walk in. He licked and kissed on the column of his neck, moving down to his collarbone where he sucked, hard, knowing for sure his work uniform would cover the bruise. 

“Nah, man,” Mickey let out through a breathy smile, “I gotta shower.”

“You smell fine to me,” Ian’s lips traveled to the shell of Mickey’s ear, his nose nuzzling behind it. 

Mickey leaned into it, only for a second before he got too lost in the feeling, “I gotta shower, c’mon.”

Ian pulled back with a disappointed look, keeping his arms straight and his hands on the wall beside Mickey’s head. He waited for a few moments, hoping his love would change his mind, but Mickey just shook his head and held his stance, firm and unwavering. 

He sighed and stepped back away from Mickey, letting the latter free to do his nightly routine, “We used to be spontaneous. What happened to us?”

Mickey rummaged through the top drawer of their dresser and pulled out some underwear and a clean wife beater, “The fuck you mean ‘spontaneous’? We had to plan out every time we wanted to bang.” He draped the clothes over his shoulder and started toward the bathroom, “You comin’?”

Ian had laid down on their bed, spread eagle, and started scrolling through his phone, “Nah,” he replied, not looking away from the screen.

“Alright.”

The door was almost fully shut before Ian snuck another thing in, “You’re not gonna try to convince me?”

Mickey poked his head out of the opening, turned his lips down into a frown and shook his head, “Nah. Guess you haven’t noticed I’m not Travis and I don’t force you to do shit you don’t wanna do.”

Ian let his head fall sideways on the pillow, dropped his phone onto his chest and gave an unaffected look, “Trevor.”

“Whatever,” Mickey said dryly, shutting the door and bluntly leaving the conversation at that.

The water started and Ian went back to answering texts. Fiona had sent him some messages, pleading for him to return for Frank’s funeral, saying they needed his neutrality and calmness to keep them all sane. Lip had asked him how California was and how badly he wished he was with him instead of planning a second funeral for another parent who doesn’t deserve it. There were a couple updated pictures of Franny from Debbie and Carl was seeking advice on how to properly train for the military. 

He responded to them all, albeit blandly, but he tried his best. Did he love his family? Of course, but being away from them didn’t seem to affect him at all. He didn’t necessarily miss them or all the shit that was constantly happening around the house. 

When he had left Mickey at the border, he thought the life he was currently living would be a nightmare; constant whirlwind of running from the cops with no money and no stability. Thought that going back to his family was the clear choice in terms of keeping his mental health at ease. Those two outcomes were nothing short of reversed. 

As soon as he stepped foot into that house and no one noticed he was gone, he knew he made a mistake. Fiona didn’t care enough to put two and two together when he went missing a day after he talked to her about running away with JimmySteve. He had told lip he was working and sleeping at the station, only to say he had missed the last few days and needed to get back, otherwise he’s get fired. 

No one detected the inconsistencies, no one saw he was lying through his teeth. 

And, if he’s honest, he didn’t remember everything Mickey had told him about how they acted during his depression. He remembered Debbie trying to get him up and Fiona trying to persuade him to go running, but that’s about it. Mickey yelling about a nuthouse, that, too, he faintly recalls hearing through the thin walls of the Milkovich house, but then it went quiet and Mickey was there next to him for the remaining duration of his real-life visit to hell. 

Ian listened to the water rushing in the next room and let his eyes shut, taking himself back in time to figure out other aspects of his mania that he never let himself reminisce about before.

After he left the army, he was lost for a while. Physically and mentally, never staying in one place for too long. Debbie and Lip came to find him at the club once, he knew that. He tried search the deepest recesses of his memory to find some other instance where _they_ looked for him; where _they_ came back to him. There was nothing. 

He was always the one going back to them, giving them a second chance, giving more to them than they gave to him; a carbon copy of Mickey with him. 

One morning he woke up on the floor of Mickey’s room, an angry, pregnant Svetlana staring down at him, with no recollection of how he got there or what had happened the night before. He left and went back home, leaving the person who practically saved him from being raped by some nasty ass old man for people who barely reacted to him being present again. 

Why didn’t they look for him? Why didn’t they try to find him and bring him home? They held search parties for Frank every time he went missing, even for Monica, back when she first started going MIA. But nothing for their underage brother who, known by two of his siblings, was working as a stripper for cash. Nothing. 

Then going back to them after he got back from his little bender with his mom, not moving an inch when Mickey was being shot at and chased by some crazed woman and police combined. He stood with Fiona and let the love of his life be taken away, potentially killed, and walked back into the house without looking back.

Mickey had been calling and texting him nonstop during that whole fiasco, never letting up or letting Ian think he wasn’t worried sick about him. Did Fiona ever call him? Ever try to see if he was okay? Not that he could remember. But, still, he chose her for some reason, still unknown to this day.

And, most recently, the border. He gave Mickey and his happiness up, only to go back to his family who had seven pounds of meth to sell. It was tired, this charade wasn’t what he wanted at all. What he wanted had just crossed over into Mexico, but here he was with a group of people who cared about him as much as they cared about Monica and Frank passing. 

He was mad at himself for never seeing the truth. Never seeing how little they supervised his wellbeing when he needed it the most or appreciated him being around at all. Being away from them for a while was for the best; give them some time to realize just how important he was to their family 

The bed dipped next to him and his eyes shot back open, never having been asleep, more so just in a trance of bad, newly understood memories.

“Ready?” Mickey climbed over Ian and straddled his hips, leaning forward to reciprocate the loving he had to turn down not twenty minutes before.

Ian tilted his head outward to open his neck some more, his hands landing on Mickey’s thighs, “Nah, we don’t have to do anything.”

Mickey pulled back and sat on Ian’s lap, “I douched for you,” he said seriously, eventually transitioning his blank stare to a laugh and diving back in.

“You gotta work in the morning, anyway, it’s cool.”

“I don’t go in ‘til noon, remember?” Mickey kept at his work, licking and kissing down Ian’s neck and trailing to wherever skin was exposed. When Ian wasn’t reacting anymore, still stuff under him, Mickey sat back again and gave a questioning bend of his head, “Are you really gonna throw a fuckin’ fit over a joke?”

“It’s not about that,” Ian licked his lips and shook his head, denying the accusation, “I was just thinkin’ about some stuff. Not in the mood anymore, okay?” 

He spoke with sincerity, no anger or frustration. This was his time to admire Mickey, sitting in front of him, fresh and clean with flushed skin from the hot water that had just penetrated his pale skin. His hair was dripping droplets of now-cold water onto his body and onto Ian too, some strands of his brows were ruffled and pointing in different directions from him scrubbing his face clean of leftover grease, getting everything out of his pores. 

“Alright,” Mickey heaved himself back over onto his side of the bed, his pillow developing a wet mark as soon as his head hit it, “What were you thinking about?” 

They angled their heads to look at each other, Ian still shifting his focus to every part of Mickey’s face, wanting nothing more than to have his features engraved in his memory for as long as they both shall live, “Family shit, it’s no biggie.”

“You wanna talk about it?” 

Ian shook his head and flipped onto his side, nudging Mickey’s hip to make him do the same. Mickey nodded, silently, and got onto his right side, pushing back against Ian to make their bodies flush against one another. Ian slung his arm over Mickey’s waist and slid his hand up his chest, held him tightly, back to chest, taking in the smell of cucumber melon shampoo. Mickey’s fingers slotted into the gaps of Ian’s, gripping securely to keep his hand in place above his heart. They both fell asleep to each other’s breathing in, undoubtedly, their favorite position. 

Throughout the night, they had shifted and moved so Ian and flopped onto his back again, flat against the mattress, with Mickey sprawled out over him, right arm and leg thrown over his body to trap him in. They were breathing in sync until there was a bang that jolted Mickey awake, making him spring up like a jack-in-the-box toy.

For a moment, he thought it was just in his head, so he waited to hear it again, letting his heartrate slow back down to whatever would be considered a normal pace for someone who was just shaken out of a deep sleep. 

It was silent, he kept his eyes on Ian to hopefully calm himself down, but then it happened again. What sounded like a thick fist viciously pounding against the front door radiated all the way to their room. And aside from the fear he had for himself, he was more worried about Yevgeny, being that he and Lana were the closest targets for whoever was at their house at this godawful hour. 

“Ian,” Mickey’s heart was hammering against the inside of his chest as he spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep any unnecessary noise to a minimum, “Ian.”

“What?” Ian groaned and pulled the sheets up over his face, turning away from Mickey and shifting onto his left side. 

“There’s someone at the door,” he got up and peeked through the blinds on both windows, seeing nothing but sand and trees swaying in the breeze. There was another bang, “Ian.”

Ian kicked his legs out and returned to lying on his back to look at his petrified love, pacing back and forth along the side of the bed, “It’s probably just Yev, let him in and come back to bed.”

The bangs were becoming more frequent, another one pulsating through the house, “Do you hear that? That’s not a fucking four-year-old.”

“Mickey, c’mon, just leave it.”

He wasn’t about to back down, even if he was possibly about to be arrested. He grabbed the baseball bat from under his side of the bed and headed toward their bedroom door. Slowly, he turned the lock and twisted the door handle, opening it up to see that it was not, in fact, Yev. 

“It’s not Yev, there’s no one out here,” he said with a shaky tone.

Ian sat up, clearly irritated that this was actually happening right now when he should be in the middle of a dream, not dealing with an irrational, tired man, “Jesus Christ, put the bat away,” he kicked the covers off his feet and planted them on the floor, rubbing his eyes and stole the weapon out of Mickey’s grasp, “Stay in here.”

Bangs kept coming, the pressure and persistence not yet wavering. He wiped his eyes to sooth the burn and erase some of the blurriness before opening the front door, immediately met with a gun pointed straight at the middle of his chest. 

He straightened up and put both hands up in surrender. The guy wasn’t a cop, if he was, he’d be arrested by now. He was big, bigger than Ian, and was covered in black from head to toe.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s going on, what do you want?” Ian’s hands were trembling as they were held in the air, showing he was in no way a threat to whoever this was. He kept his eyes on everything except the barrel of the object that could kill him in seconds. 

It was still the dead of night outside, making it almost impossible for Ian to make out anything about the guy. His eyes were covered by his hoodie, only his mouth was visible to Ian, “Let me talk to Mickey.”

Ian wobbled on his feet, trying his best to stay as still as he could to keep the guy happy, “He’s uh,” he stumbled on his words, averting his eyes every time they focused back on the gun, “He’s sleeping.”

“Don’t bullshit me, I know he’s awake. Piece of shit never sleeps.”

His voice had a heavy accent but his English was perfected. Ian tried to prolong the conversation, hoping to eventually come an agreement and solve whatever problem there was without anyone dying, “How do you know that?”

The guy’s grip on the gun was steady, not at all shaking, “Doesn’t matter, let me talk to him.”

Ian turned his head to look back at their bedroom door and saw it was completely shut, glad that Mickey was hopefully unable to hear any of this, “Listen, man, can you please put that away? We got a kid in here-”

He was interrupted by the guy cocking the gun and pressing it up to his chest instead of it hovering in front of him, “Get him.”

“Okay, okay,” Ian replied in a rush. 

Acting complicity, he backtracked into the house while the gunman stayed outside, both hands around the handle of his weapon, ready to shoot if Ian made any inappropriate moves. He got to their door and opened it with one hand, keeping the other raised in the air, “Mickey, please come out here,” he spoke mundanely.

Ian stepped aside and gave Mickey room to enter the altercation. He poked his head out and took one look at the guy, stepping out and huffing out an agitated sigh, “God fucking’ dammit, put that thing away, please.”

Mickey walked toward him and Ian wanted to reach out and stop him, but he stayed back. He didn’t understand how Mickey was being so calm about this, so nonchalant, but that’s how Ian remembers him; cool under pressure. 

“I need to talk to you,” the guy lowered the gun and put it in the waistband of his pants behind his back.

“I told you to leave me the fuck alone, and yet here you are. What the hell do you want, man? I’m sicka this shit,” Mickey walked outside and shut the front door, isolating Ian in what seemed to be a protective way. 

Ian could only hear mumbling through wood, not able to clearly make out anything that was being said. He finally let his arms down and tiptoed to Lana and Yev’s room, pressing an ear to their door and he could hear Yev crying and Lana trying to comfort him. He didn’t go in, knowing Yev would latch onto him, resulting in the kid being unnecessarily scarred.

“Alright, done,” Mickey said as he stepped back inside, Ian’s hands immediately going back up. He watched at Mickey went into their room and pulled out their stash of cash and counted out a certain amount.

He kept looking back and forth from Mickey to the guy, heart still rapidly beating.

“Here,” Mickey slapped a stack of bills into the guy’s hand, “We’re even. Leave me and my family the fuck alone.”

The guy stuffed the money into the pocket of his hoodie, turned around and walked away soundlessly. Mickey shut the door and his eyes turned wide and terrified. 

“Who the fuck was that?” 

Mickey slid down onto the floor, his back pressed against the front door. He folded his legs into himself, wrapping his arms around his knees. His eyes were darting all across the room and breathing was becoming harder and harder, like a cement block was resting on his lungs.

Yev had escaped from his mom’s confinement and ran out, eyes puffy, hair ruffled. He saw his dad on the floor, mid panic attack, and took gentle steps to move closer. He sat down next to Mickey and hooked his arms around his bicep and held on to keep himself close. 

Lana and Ian stood back and let the panic ride itself out, patiently waiting for an explanation as to what the fuck had just happened. 

Mickey didn’t react to Yev’s gesture, but the kid didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t move, he didn’t try to talk, he just comforted his dad; just like his mom did for him. 

As he came down from the haze, Mickey started looking around, trying to find something he could focus on to ground himself. The shaking had subsided for the most part, his breathing was slowing down as well. He forced himself to do his typical technique: a ten second breath in through the nose, ten second breath out the mouth. 

“What is this?” Lana whispered to Ian.

“Panic attack.”

The father-son duo stayed on the floor for a few more minutes, Mickey staying still until he was good and ready to move or speak. Eventually, he pulled away from Yev and stood up, slicking back his hair and rubbing his hands down his face. Yev followed him, grabbing onto his leg and moving as his dad did. 

“Who was that?” Ian reached out to Mickey’s shoulder, bringing him in for a warm embrace. Mickey’s arms were folded in between their bodies, Ian’s arms wrapping around his entire being. His face was buried in Ian’s bare skin, voice muffled, “Guy a banged when I first got here.”

Lana had started pacing, hands on hips, not sure what to do with herself. 

“It’s okay,” Ian let his hands trail up and down Mickey’s back in an attempt to calm his nerves, “It’s okay. Let’s go back to bed, come on.”

They started to walk back to their room until Mickey felt the weight tied around his leg. He stopped and reached down to pick Yev up, the kid instantly melting into the cuddle. 

He rotated to face Lana, “He’s gonna sleep with us. You good?”

“Are you?” she asked back, standing in the middle of the living room in an oversized shirt and underwear, unfairly yanked out of her sleep by a crying baby.

Mickey nodded, frown and bloodshot eyes still prevalent, “I’ll be fine.” 

She headed back to her room, shutting the door behind her without answering back. He, Ian and Yev headed back to bed, climbing in together. Yev was snuggled into Mickey’s chest and Mickey’s back was right where it belonged; against Ian. 

It was a Mickey sandwich, piled high with love and safety.


	7. Chapter 7

“Good morning,” Ian said softly, placing a single, chaste kiss to Mickey’s left shoulder. 

Ian’s two boys slept through the rest of the night without any problems. In fact, they all three stayed in the same positions until the sun rose, apparently too comfortable and content to move a muscle. Being able to sleep in was great, but not being bugged by Yev until the whole house was filled with bright, golden sunlight was the cherry on top of a hectic night. 

Unfortunately, he was the one waking up every once in a while. Having a loaded gun pointed directly at you has that affect, apparently. He wouldn’t panic like Mickey or get up and walk around the house like Yev, he would stick around, clinging firmly to Mickey, never letting him feel anything but safe and secure. He’d open his eyes, see his two loves sleeping soundly and drift back into serenity. 

Yev was pressed tightly against his dad’s chest, head using Mickey’s extended arm as a pillow. That arm was now numbed, numb to the point where when Mickey came to, he wasn’t sure he even had a right limb anymore.

“Mhm,” he grumbled and went to fall back into Ian, but his side of the bed was empty. The room was intensely light, the sun blinding him when he tried to open his eyes for the first time. His eyelids were speckled with changing colors and designs, making him borderline dizzy, “What time is it?” he rubbed them with his free hand, trying to get the psychedelic show going on behind his lids to turn itself the fuck down.

“Nine thirty,” Ian called back from the bathroom, swallowing down his meds and walking back into the room. He hovered over Yev, brushing his bedhead out of the way and giving him a good morning kiss on the temple, “He slept through the night.” 

“Both did,” Mickey yawned, “where’s mine?”

Ian leaned over the still-sleeping baby and melded his lips to Mickey’s, hand on his hip, his love’s hand grasped around Ian’s neck, holding him in place for way longer than needed. It was simple and affectionate, nothing extreme or overly sexual, but felt grounding at the same time. Last night was rough and he knew Mickey would be worried about him dipping out and leaving again, but boy was he wrong. 

As he pulled back, Ian joined their foreheads together, running his fingers through messy, black hair in the process. Mickey hummed underneath him, the act of pure warmth and fondness making his stomach flip, “I’m sorry about last night.”

“It’s okay,” he laid his final kiss on Mickey’s temple and drew himself away, opening the closet to choose his outfit for the day.”

“I was freakin’ out ‘cause I never gave him my address,” Mickey flopped onto his back, arm still trapped under Yev, “I saw him at the store yesterday and he must've followed me home.”

“How much did you give him?”

“Hundred grand,” Mickey replied nonchalantly.

Ian dropped a shirt he was holding and turned around, slack-jawed, “What?”

Mickey swatted his hand and scrunched his face up, “Pesos. It’s, like, five grand.”

“Oh,” he bent over and picked up the t-shirt, positioning it back on a hanger, “that’s still a shit ton of money.”

“It’s what he wanted,” Mickey opened and closed his sleeping fist, trying to get his blood circulating again, “my hand’s so fuckin’ numb, can you get him off me, please?”

In an awful, fake Russian accent, Ian imitated Lana with an assertive, pointed finger, “You are father. You wake baby.”

“God, don’t start,” he tried gently removing his arm from under Yev, but every slight movement made him scooch closer and closer to Mickey, “she’s gonna be up my ass about last night.” Ian went back into the bathroom when Mickey noticed their laundry basket overflowing, “By the way, can you or Lana do the laundry today? Need my work clothes washed.”

Ian came walking back out, toothbrush sticking straight out of his lips, “Mhm,” he spoke through foam, attempting to do so without swallowing, “Where’s the laundromat?”

“You go like you’re going to the freeway, but take a left right before it on, uh,” he squeezed his eyes and the bridge of his nose in thought, “uh, San Carlos,” he snapped his fingers, “and it’s on the right.”

Ian nodded and exited again, leaving Mickey to poke at Yev’s cheek, trying to wake him in the kindest way possible, “Hey,” he whispered, “you gotta get up.” Yev whined and covered his face with his hands, blocking his dumb dad out, “You’re drooling on me, bud,” the kid rubbed his mouth on Mickey’s skin in defiance. 

Mickey spoke louder, “Ian’s gonna come tickle you if you don’t wake up…” Ian came tiptoeing out of the bathroom, “he’s gonna get you, you better get up.”

Yev hid his face in Mickey’s chest, “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” he watched in admiration of how good Ian was with Yev as he came closer, hands up ready to unleash a tickle-attack on the kid, “he’s right behind you, he’s getting closer…”

Yev peeked over his shoulder and saw that, yes, his dad was telling the truth. He shrieked and crawled over his dad to Ian’s side of the bed, letting Mickey’s arm breath for the first time in hours. His elbow cracked as he bent it, fingers feeling nonexistent. 

Ian chased him around the room, his hands tugged at Yev’s shirt a couple times, but he still let the kid think he was faster than a six-foot-tall grown man and was fast enough to get away. Mickey observed his two best friends playing freely and carelessly, his heart feeling nothing short of full knowing this was the life Yev was going to have. He had three parents who loved him and cared about making him happy, keeping him entertained and showing they were listening to whatever he had to say.

As his eyes followed them out the door and into the living room, he smiled out of peace and gratitude. Last night was dangerous and stressful, but today would be better. He could have the shittiest day ever, but coming home or waking up to that kid and his love always made it worth it. 

He lingered in bed, listening to Yev’s screams turn to giggles, until Ian came walking back in, almost out of breath, alone. 

“You’re so good with him,” Mickey complimented, getting up and heading to the bathroom, “must be easy being the fun parent.”

Huffing and puffing, hands on his hips, Ian stood in the doorway, looking at Mickey through the mirror, “Not when you’re outta shape.” He left and went back to the closet, pulling out Mickey’s coveralls with some navy-blue golfer-looking shorts and a gray t-shirt for himself, “Lana looked pretty pissed.”

“Shocking,” Mickey said through the froth muffling his speech before spitting into the sink.

“Enough talking about mother of your child,” Lana came sauntering into the bathroom, holding a fresh towel and clean clothes, passed by both men without a word and turned the shower on, “get out.”

Ian and Mickey both rolled their eyes, but didn’t wanted to protest. They left the room and shut both doors behind them, giving her some much deserved alone time.

“Yev, what do you want for breakfast?” Ian opened the fridge to find something to prepare, but only being met with the boring essentials: eggs, bacon and fruit. 

“Pancakes,” Yev mundanely replied, too fascinated by the cartoons on T.V to care.

“No more pancakes,” he put the food on the counter and searched through the cupboards to find a pan, “gonna rot your teeth out.”

“Gonna go call Mandy, want mine scrambled,” Mickey went out the sliding glass door onto the back porch and wiped the sand off with his barefoot, taking a seat on the top stair.

The door started opening gradually behind him, making him turn around to see Yev yanking on the handle with all of his might just enough to squeeze his tiny frame through and out onto the wooden planks.

“Yev, you gotta go inside,” Mickey said in a sort of irritated whine, “you’re gonna turn into a lobster out here.”

“I wanna be with you,” he plopped down next to his dad, mimicking his posture; elbows on spread knees, hands dangling in-between. 

“I gotta call someone, okay? Go help dad with breakfast,” he spoke with no hesitation, not even realizing what he said afterwards, “I’ll be in there in a second, I just need to talk to your aunt Mandy.”

“Is Ian my daddy too?”

Mickey connected the dots, “Kinda, yeah,” how do you explain the concept of stepparents to a four-year-old? “Just go help him, set the table, get me a cup of coffee, do something.”

The kid finally caved, stood up and headed inside. Before the door was shut completely, Mickey heard him say, “Daddy said I can call you daddy too.”

They’d need to have a little chat.

Once by himself, he found Mandy’s number in his contacts and dialed. It rang for longer than expected, to the point where he thought it was going to go to voicemail, but, eventually, she picked up, voice frantic, “Mickey, I’m busy. What do you want?”

“Uh,” Mickey started, caught off guard, “I was just wondering about the passport? When are you gonna get it? We all wanna see you.”

“I don’t know, it’ll probably be here in, like, June,” there was an indistinct voice of a man, “I gotta go, though. I’ll talk to you soon.”

And the phone disconnected. Mickey pulled it away from his ear and stared at the screen like she was fucking with him. Then, he thought about what Ian had told him about what she was doing for money and it all clicked. 

He got up and slid the door open with a little more force than necessary, a wave of cooking, sizzling meat infecting his senses as he stepped inside, “You told me she wasn’t hooking.”

“What?” Ian said with a mouthful of strawberries, flipping the slices of bacon and handing Yev a raspberry at the same time.

“She just hung up on me with a dude in the background,” he threw his phone on the table and sat down, arms crossed, in a pissed off big brother kind of way, “you said she wasn’t selling herself.”

“You don’t know that’s what it was,” he poured the scrambled eggs into another pan, “maybe she got a boyfriend? Who knows.”

“Mandy doesn’t get boyfriends,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “users and abusers is all she knows.”

“Are you calling Lip an abuser?” Ian questioned, brows furrowed. 

“You said it, not me.” 

“Lip like my lip?” Yev pulled his bottom lip down, “This is my lip.”

“Yeah,” Ian ruffled his hair and he wrapped his arms protectively around his stepdad’s thigh, “Lip like lip but Lip’s a person. He’s sort of, like, your uncle?” he seemed uncertain with that answer and looked to Mickey for confirmation, especially after the latter slipped the D word just minutes before. 

“Like uncle Iggy?” Yev asked, moving with Ian’s leg as he walked to the fridge.

“Nah, Yev,” Mickey shook his head, “Lip’s not your uncle,” he got up and copped a mug from the cupboard, pouring himself a cup of steaming hot coffee, “Iggy’s your uncle and Mandy’s your aunt, but that’s it.” 

“You’re confusing him,” Ian mumbled under his breath, leaning in toward Mickey, “just go with it.”

“You brought him up?” Mickey fought back, “I don’t want him thinkin’ he’s related your piece of shit brother or anybody else.”

“He’s four.”

“Don’t care,” he got a stack of their lightest plates and held them down to Yev’s level, “here, go put these on the table.”

Yev happily obliged, placing one in front of each chair. Mickey handed him two mugs for his other parents and one kid-sized glass for his daily serving of orange juice, all situated neatly above the plates.

Mickey left the kitchen and went into their bedroom, shielding his eyes with the palm of his hand, “Are you naked?”

“No.”

He left his hand fall to his side and walked closer to the bathroom, stalling in the doorway. She had her hair wrapped in a towel and was in a flowy, floral sundress, applying lipstick and blush to her blemish-free face, “Breakfast is ready.”

“Okay.”

“And, uh,” he stammered, knowing this needed to be said, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about last night.”

She turned around and cocked her head, folding her arms across her chest, “It cannot happen again, not with baby here.”

“I know,” he’d never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but she intimidated him… just a little. Having conversations like this made him feel like he was being disciplined by his mother, “Trust me, I’m gonna try my best,” he ended with a light laugh, wanting to loosen the tension.

“It happens again, we leave.”

She clearly didn’t find the situation funny or deserving of any comedic relief. Her and Yev leaving would hurt just as bad as Ian, if not twice as much, so he changed his tone to please her and give at least some sort of comfort or reassurance, “It’s not gonna happen again.”

Lana took the towel off and tousled her hair, getting all the excess water out. She hung it back up and gave a single, “Okay,” before walking passed him and back out to the kitchen. 

Mickey soon followed, trying to sense even the slightest bit of security from her answer. He never wanted them to leave, never wanted to be without Yevgeny, or her, for that matter. Obviously, he loved Ian and would be with him no matter what, but the thought of it being just the two of them in the house without that little ball of light or his occasional bitch of a mom made his stomach tie itself in knots. He could barely remember what life was like before the two of them arrived, but he did know it was boring as shit. 

“Scrambled for Yev, scrambled for dad, scrambled for mom, and over easy for dad número dos,” Ian handed out each serving, dividing the bacon between the four of them. He brought over the coffee pot and filled the three mugs, finishing with apple juice in a plastic cup for Yev.

They ate together, Lana’s mood significantly lifted by her son’s string of rhetorical questions; why are eggs yellow? Why can't I drink coffee? Why is daddy’s hair black? 

Lana whisked Yev away to wash his face and get him dressed for the day, leaving the two dads to clean up. Ian stood over the sink, scrubbing at a pan, hands covered in bubbles, while Mickey helped in bringing everything from the table to him.

Mickey hugged around Ian’s waist with one arm, his palm slipping under the band of his sweats to press hotly against the skin of his hip. He rested his cheek on Ian’s bicep and stayed silent, trying to figure out how to bring up a topic that had been eating away at him for the past couple days: seeing the therapist again.

They didn’t get the full experience after his confession and he felt like they were robbed of actually talking through some things. And maybe he wanted to say sorry to the poor woman who unknowingly got herself involved in his mess of a life. 

“Can you, uh,” Mickey tossed a used mug into the pool of foamy water, speaking in a soft voice so only Ian could here, “um...”

“Hm?” Ian hummed, washing out the black stains in each cup with his slowly pruning fingers.

Mickey continued, speaking so lowly he wasn’t sure Ian would even hear him over the sloshing water, “Can you call the, uh, the shrink again? Make an appointment for Saturday?”

Ian stopped what he was doing and pulled his head back to look down at Mickey, the latter then tilting his up, “You serious?”

“Yeah,” Mickey nodded and looked away, only slightly embarrassed. Ian was always the person he could trust, could be his honest, true self around without any fear of being judged. Yes, he wanted to talk about his problems. Yes, he wanted to feel lighter after having those weights lifted off his chest. Yes, he wanted Ian to be there and yes, he wanted to see the therapist again, “Think we owe her an apology, at least.”

That got a chuckle out of both men, recalling what happened and how shocked that lady must've been. Ian moved his arm from under Mickey’s cheek and wrapped it around his shoulders, “Yeah, I’ll call,” he gave him a gentle kiss atop his hair and savored his scent all in one go, “but we’re having dinner with your boss on Saturday, remember?” 

“We’ll go in the morning,” Mickey countered, pulling his hand around the small of Ian’s back, fingertips forming goosebumps.

“’Kay,” Ian stepped to the side, reluctantly pulling away way from Mickey, “I’ll call her later.”

“Thank you,” Mickey started walking toward their room, “gonna go in early. Gotta fix that old bitch’s car, Lord knows no one else there will.”

Ian finished filling the dishwasher and cleaned up all the crumbs Yev left on the table and below his chair while Mickey got dressed for work. Yev went back to watching T.V, snuggled into his mom’s side on the couch. 

“Alright,” Mickey packed his wallet and phone into the pockets of his stained coveralls, “I gotta go.”

Yev leaped off the couch and went to the entryway, sitting on the floor to dip his right foot into the left shoe. 

“What are you doin’?” Mickey gathered a water bottle out of the fridge and his keys off the counter. 

“Going with you,” he tried to tie the laces, but just jumbled the strings together in hopes they would turn themselves into bunny ears and then a bow.

“No, you’re not,” Mickey slipped his already-tied shoes on, “I’m going to work, you can't come, bud.” Yev looked up at him with puppy eyes that he somehow inherited from Ian, looking like he was on the verge of crying. Mickey wanted to give him the world, but knew that had to stand his ground and be the parent the kid needed him to be. He squatted down to Yev’s level and spoke calmly, “You’re gonna stay here with mom and dad,” he slowly took a shoe off his foot, careful not to be too abrupt, “and you’re gonna go do laundry,” realizing how lame that sounded compared to going to work with his dad, he tried to save this bribe as Ian walked back out from their bedroom, “and dad will take you swimming later. Right?” 

Ian nodded and stood back, letting Mickey do his parenting duties. Lana came over to the group of boys and watched as Mickey talked Yev down, sensibly and maturely, “I’m gonna be home in a couple hours, okay?”

Yev gave in, remembering how his dad gets when he whines or misbehaves, and walked somberly back to the couch, gluing his young eyes back to cartoons.

“We are using ‘dad’ now?” Lana asked curiously while Mickey pulled the other shoe on.

“Yep,” he wrapped a hand around Ian’s neck and gave him a delicate kiss, saying one last thing before shutting the front door behind him, “he’s as much of a parent as you, more of one than me.” 

The day dragged on and Ian did as Mickey promised. They went to the laundromat and used Ian’s broken Spanish to ask for coins in exchange for his bills, came home and went swimming in the vast Atlantic Ocean. He taught Yev how to float on water, lying him on his back and slowly pulling his hands out from below, while Lana tanned on the sand. Mickey came home a few hours later and they went to McDonald’s because not one parent felt like cooking. 

Wednesday came, as well as Lana and Yev’s dresser. Ian took the kid out to swim again while his mom handled the construction and built the entire thing on the floor of the living room. 

The rest of the week passed slowly, the two stay-at-home parents desperately wished Mickey didn’t have to work so he could entertain Yev if only for an hour to give them a break. They traded off time with him every day, going back and forth so the other could relax and rest their eyes for a few minutes before Yev would decide he was done with that adult and wanted the other. 

Saturday came and Yev had found his way back into their bed again. The first few nights, they tried to be stern with the rules and return him to his big boy bed. But, as the days progressed and their sleep levels declined, they stopped fighting it and just let him climb up with them. Never, though, did Mickey let him squeeze himself between the two men, always making him choose a side, choose a dad to nestle up against. He wasn’t about to lose hours of shut-eye over Yev coming between his skin and Ian’s touch.

That night, he chose Ian. Mickey was forced to become the big spoon, leg slung over his love’s hip, while Yev had gone from being parallel to his dads to sleeping sideways and taking up half the bed with his little body, Ian keeping an arm on the edge of the mattress to keep the kid from rolling off. 

As the sun started peeking through the blinds, waking Ian up, he traced Mickey’s palm with his index finger, tickling the sensitive skin and making him grumble defiantly, “Wakey, wakey.”

Mickey turned over, breaking contact with Ian, and jammed his face into his pillow to get as far away from the brightness as he could. 

Ian did the same, planting a solid kiss on the nape of Mickey’s neck, “Get up, we gotta go,” he climbed over him, leaving the sleeping baby rest uninterrupted, “come on.”

“What time is it?” the words came out quiet, mouth completely covered by the pillow. 

“Ten thirty, gotta be there at eleven.” 

“Shit,” Mickey flopped onto his back and stretched his arms up, speaking mid-yawn, “this,” he circled a finger over Yev, “has to stop.”

Ian stood in the bathroom doorway and nodded, scrubbing his teeth and talked through froth, “Everyone knows kids are the ultimate cockblock.”

“Kid keeps givin’ me blue balls,” Mickey got up and coasted past Ian, grabbing his own brush, “I’m sick of it.”

They finished primping themselves, got dressed and tiptoed out of the room to find Lana sipping a cup of coffee on the couch with a cigarette hanging between two fingers. Mickey came up behind her, plucked it out of her grasp and threw it down the sink, “The fuck did I tell you about smoking in here? It’s like eighty degrees outside right now, go enjoy it.”

Ian poured the fresh, hot, black liquid into two travel mugs, “He’s still asleep in there, but we gotta go.”

“We’re gonna go to the store to pick up some shit for dinner,” Mickey packed up his wallet, phone and keys into his pockets, “if you could clean up around here, make this place look somewhat presentable, that’d be great.”

“Since when do you care about looks?”

“Since this isn't my house and I don’t wanna lose this place and my job because my boss trips over a fuckin’ toy car or because everything smells like smoke.” He headed toward the front door, Ian following behind with their pick-me-up drinks, “Can you just do it? Please?” 

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Lana changed the channel, relishing in the feeling of fucking with him, “bring back Oreos and I will.”

“Oreos. Done,” they headed out, Mickey locking the door behind them. 

The drive was quick, Mickey probably going a little over the speed limit, but they got to the apartment complex with no problem. This time felt different, Ian could feel the difference in Mickey’s attitude. A week ago, both were cold and stubborn, drifting apart at a rapid pace. Now, they walked hand-in-hand into the building, kept close in the elevator, and only separated when they reached the doctor’s door, Mickey hiding behind Ian, letting him take the lead again. 

He was nervous, but that was to be expected. The nervousness had changed, though, from last time, no longer fearing the room or the woman or the questions. Now, his worrying came from what she would say, what diagnosis she would give him. He had only ever been on the other side, dealing with what doctors would say about Ian, but never about himself. Aside from that, he was ready to answer whatever she asked, ready to get all of this shit off his chest. 

“Remember our names,” Ian spoke softly after he knocked. 

The door opened and the same warm woman appeared wearing jeans, a vibrant yellow peplum top, her cat-eye glasses with her hair up in a messy bun. She extended a hand out, Ian embracing it first as they exchanged good mornings. He headed it, squeezing beside her into the too-bright plant-filled room, “Good morning to you, too, Matty,” he smiled, somewhat authentically, and followed behind her into the apartment. 

“You guys need a drink? Have you had breakfast yet?” 

“Can I get a water?” Mickey took her offer and sat on the couch, closer to the middle this time around.

“Of course,” she pulled two bottles from the fridge, ignoring how Ian never asked for one, “why don’t we all have a seat and we’ll get started, yeah?” 

She placed the perspiring bottles on coasters and took her seat across from them, Ian sitting close enough to Mickey on the couch to rest a comforting, supportive hand on the older man’s thigh.

“Okay,” she opened the notebook from last time, flipping through the pages to find her notes on Mickey, “how are we doing today? Better than last week, I hope?” 

“Yeah, much better,” Mickey assured her, “we actually wanted to say sorry about that,” he covered Ian’s hand with his, gaining more confidence through a single touch, “we weren’t really on the same page about being here, but it’s good now.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” she scribbled something down, “you two aren't the first to have a blow up during the initial meeting, it can be pretty rough for some.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and glanced back and forth between the two men, “I think we should get right into it? Skip all the, redundant questions, is that okay?” 

They nodded and she continued, “Really quick, I just wanna remind you both that everything you say in this room today is one hundred percent confidential unless I feel like you’re a danger to yourself or others, alright?” 

“Feel like I’m being read my Miranda rights,” Mickey said, seriously, but getting laughs out of his peers. 

“A little bit, yeah,” she smiled, licking her finger and swiping to a fresh page in the book, “but you understand, correct?” 

Again, they nodded. 

“So,” she sat back, relaxing against the same red chair and setting her attention on Mickey, “Ivan told me on the phone that you’re having some trouble sleeping, you wanna talk about that?” 

“Um,” he started, swallowing hard, “yeah, I mean, I can't sleep unless I’m touching him and I know sounds stupid as fuck, but whatever.” 

She jotted down the information he was giving her, “And how long has that been going on?”

Mickey looked at Ian then out the window, realizing this may be more embarrassing than he thought, “What do you mean, not sleeping or not sleeping without him?”

“Not sleeping in general. What age did this start?”

“Um, I’d say I was probably,” Ian slotted their fingers together and tightened his grip, “I guess I was, like, seven? I remember my teacher calling my parents ‘cause I was fallin’ asleep in class.” 

“Mhm,” she hummed and added to his page, “do you have any recollection of why you wouldn’t have been sleeping back then?”

“My dad,” Mickey replied quickly and without hesitation, unknowingly clutching Ian’s hand harder.

“What would he do?”

He took a moment to reflect, to prepare himself for rehashing events from his childhood that he had kept locked away in a vault for fifteen plus years. He heard Ian whisper something to him, signaling he was zoning out, “He’d be the shit out of me at night. Be asleep and wake up with his fist to my jaw or,” he gulped, trying to phrase it properly, “a steel toed boot in my gut.”

She didn’t give much away in terms of a reaction, staying impartial, face blank, “And what would you do?”

His eyes were glued to the water bottle on the table, watching as droplets dripped down the side, “I had to start staying up all night so I would know when he came home,” he scooted closer to Ian, needing more than just their hands intertwined, “and when I heard the door open, I’d hide under my bed.”

Ian’s jaw was clenching, empty hand formed into a fist, nails digging into his palm, wanting nothing more than to track that piece of shit down and hurt him like he hurt Mickey, preferably more than. 

“Did he hurt anybody else in the house?”

“My mom,” he sunk into the couch, letting his muscles relax as he got into the flow of answering her questions, “he loved my brothers and left my sister for the molesting, so… his weak ass son and bitch of a wife got the shit end of the stick.”

She noticed how his eyes were darting across the room, as if he was trying to find something to ground him, so she changed the topic to something hopefully a little lighter, “Wanna tell me about your mom?” 

That brought his attention back to her, focus no longer going from spot to spot. He sat up a little, let go of Ian’s hand and stole the bottle off the coaster, took a sip and gave a brief rundown of his mom’s short life, “She was young, fucked my dad, got pregnant with me, couldn’t afford to raise me on her own so she was stuck with him,” he turned his head to meet Ian’s eyes, calmed immediately by his slow nod telling him to keep going, “then she had my sister and I think he blamed both of them, like, resented my sister for just fucking existing and hated my mom for making him support another kid.” 

Filling the last line of the page of her notebook, she flipped to a clean one and continued her thought, “How’s your mom now?”

“She died when I was seventeen,” that’s when he started feeling the burn behind his eyes, “I was in juvie, I didn’t even get to say bye.”

The room went silent, the doctor’s pen falling into the spine of her notebook, “I’m so sorry, Matty.”

He laughed out of his nose at the name, thinking about how pathetic it was to have to lie about his name to someone who’s learning everything about him and all is problems. Didn’t quite make sense. 

“It’s fine,” he shook his head and blinked a little more frequently to get the stinging to go away. 

“How did you handle that?”

“I don’t wanna talk about her anymore,” he didn’t mean to snap, his words coming out harsher than he intended them to, “she doesn’t have anything to do with why the fuck I can't sleep.”

“Okay,” she scribbled something down, “that’s alright.” She pushed her glasses up with a knuckle and adjusted her crossed legs, “Um, Ivan also told me that you were sexually assaulted.”

Mickey turned his head, lips barely parted, deep creases prevalent between his brows. He spoke in a soft whisper, aiming for only Ian hearing him, “Why did you tell her that?”

“Because you need to talk about it,” Ian scratched at the buzzed hairs on the back of Mickey’s neck, soothing him immediately. 

“We don’t have to discuss it, if you don’t want to,” she countered.

“No,” Mickey shook his head and rubbed his palms into the corners of his eyes, “it’s okay. You’ve heard all my other shit already, anyway.”

“We could do it in private if that would make you feel more comfortable, Ivan could step out for a min-”

“No,” he stopped her, “he stays.”

“Just take your time, feel free to stop whenever you see necessary.”

His dad hurt him when he was a kid, yeah. Physically, mentally, emotionally, you name it. He could talk about that stuff forever, no problem, besides maybe a few discarded tears and some bad memories brought to the surface. But this, this was the big one that made his stomach twist in ways that nothing but time and a will to forget could cure.

He could fool himself into thinking he was over it, could look at Yev or Lana and feel nothing bad, only love. Then the next day he would look at that child, _his_ child, and remember every detail of when he was conceived. Look at Lana and feel everything hateful, like she was the one to blame for what happened. It was irrational, he knew that, but when you’re the only one to blame, it’s easy to force that on someone else. 

“Um,” Mickey leaned forward, elbows on knees. Ian stroked his back in long, oval shaped motions, silently saying _I’m here_ and _it’s okay_. He fiddled with hangnails, trying to connect the pieces together in his head so he wouldn’t stumble on his words or ramble too much, deep down knowing that was useless, “My dad, uh, took my brothers away during that weekend.”

“Ia- Ivan,” he caught himself, “was staying at a shelter, so I told him he could crash at my place if he wanted to.” His fingers latched into the flesh of Ian’s thigh before continuing, 

“I paid my sister to stay the fuck out of the house so it could just be the two of us.”

With his right ring finger, he picked at his thumb on the same hand, “I wanted to show him that I was serious about him ‘cause I felt like he was gonna leave me,” he chuckled and shook his head, “which he did anyway, but whatever.”

Ian winced at that, but kept his hand steady on the small of Mickey’s back.

“Um, but, yeah, he came over and that was one of the happiest nights of my life,” his focus was on the floor, avoiding eye contact with the doctor, “first time we slept together, too. Probably when this whole sleeping without him shit fest started.”

“It felt normal, you know? Like, it was just us in the house, we could do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted, without worrying about anybody fucking it up,” he scratched at his stubble, just now realizing he forgot to shave.

“But the next morning, my dad, um,” he struggled to swallow, mouth dry, tears prickling behind his eyes, “he came back early and caught us together.”

Ian slipped his hand under the hem of Mickey’s shirt, knowing he needed the skin on skin contact. 

“He beat him up,” he flicked his head toward Ian, “and I pulled him off, then he pistol-whipped me and knocked me out.” He ran both hands through his hair and clasped them at the base of his neck, “When I saw that gun coming straight at my face, all I thought about was how I couldn’t protect him, like, my dad could kill him while I was out and I wouldn’t be able to do anything.”

“And when I woke up,” one salty bead made its way out of the duct and onto his skin, “he made me fuck some hooker.”

Ian hung his head and closed his eyes, wishing these memories away, wishing they never happened to begin with. He tried to imagine how sick Mickey must've felt, how horribly nauseated he must feel while talking about this tragedy. He couldn’t relate, as much as he wanted to comfort Mickey in every way he needed to be, all he knew how to do was rub his back, console him by touch, not words. 

“Did you see anybody after that? To talk about what happened?”

“No,” Mickey sniffled and wiped the tear away, pulling himself together and settling back into the couch while Ian wrapped an arm around his shoulders to pull him in closer, “didn’t talk to anyone. Couldn’t talk to him,” he jutted a thumb out pointing to Ian’s stomach, “like, nothing would come out, I couldn’t talk at all.”

She spoke tenderly, “Why do you think that was?”

Mickey shrugged and sucked in his bottom lip, “I don’t know, I felt guilty, I guess.”

“Why?” 

“‘Cause I didn’t say no,” his breathing was steady, “didn’t say it when I fucked her, didn’t say it when she got pregnant, didn’t say it when I married her,” he locked his left foot around Ian’s right, “and he’d try to talk to me, but I didn’t understand why, like, why he even wanted to be around me anymore after I acted like such a pussy.”

She nodded and flipped to another clean page in her book and took the heat off Mickey, let him have a break for a little bit, “Ivan, what did you do after this happened? How did it affect you?”

Ian looked up, awoken out of a daze, “Um, I didn’t do much, I mean- I just had to watch, he was the one who got hurt.”

“You had to watch?”

“Yeah, his dad had the gun pointed at all three of us while they… you know,” now, he felt the nausea.

“He said you tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t respond. How did that make you feel?”

He tightened his grip around Mickey, “Shitty,” he chewed on his thumbnail in thought, “I didn’t know why he was acting like that. But, I was only seventeen, I didn’t know anything about rape or PTSD or anything, like, I thought women could only be raped, that’s how stupid I was.”

Mickey swallowed roughly, the guilt still painfully prevalent in his chest. He should’ve sucked it up, shouldn’t just dealt with it like a man. Why did he push the one person he needed away when he needed him the most?

“And I thought he was choosing her over me? For some reason? I was so fucking dumb, it’s not even funny. Being mad at him for not saying no to his dad was so, so fucking dumb, I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“You were young and uninformed, it’s not your fault.”

“And then I left town. Thought that was a smart move, too, turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life,” Ian shifted against the leather, Mickey’s head now resting on his shoulder. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“Army.”

She laid her pen in the spine of the notebook and closed the cover, looking at two boys with red eyes, clinging together like their sanity depended on it, “Alright, I can tell both of you have had about enough today, yeah?”

They nodded and Mickey let go of Ian for the first time since they started, sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees, “Wait, so what’s wrong with me?”

Halting herself from standing up, she smiled almost pitifully, “There’s nothing wrong with you, Matty. I think you have some deep-rooted anxiety stemming from your childhood and the abuse you endured by your father, but those aren't things we can't work toward minimizing.”

Mickey snorted and looked to Ian then back at the doctor, “You’re makin’ it sound like I got fuckin’… daddy issues or some shit,” he creased his brows, “I don’t.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she promised, “I’m saying what parents do to their children when they’re kids affects who they become as adults. Your father made you live in fear for however many years of your life, it’s to be expected that you’d feel some form of anxiety. I’d be more worried if you didn’t, if you detached yourself to the point of feeling nothing.”

He let that sink in, let himself process the diagnosis. There was someone to blame besides himself, someone responsible for him feeling like this. He had a reason to feel this way, it wasn’t a question anymore. She tried to stand up again, but Mickey stopped her, “So, am I gonna get sleeping pills, or whatever?”

Sitting back down, she folded her hands in her lap, “I don’t think you’re at the point where you need medication to help you sleep. Soporific drugs should only be used when someone absolutely cannot fall asleep, no matter what they do.”

“That’s my problem, I can't fall asleep. I thought that was the whole point of doin’ this?”

She opened her book again and flipped to Mickey’s first page, sliding her index finger down the paper until she found the proper note, “You said you can sleep as long as you’re touching Ivan, is that right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“If you can still get a full night’s sleep while using a… natural form of medicine,” she smiled, her joke failing to land, “I can't prescribe you anything.”

“No, wait, he’s gonna leave again in a couple weeks and I’m just supposed to not sleep? I thought your job was to fix this kinda shit?” Mickey face was tense with irritation and confusion, feeling like he just relived everything for nothing.

She planted the book on the coffee table, signifying this was off the record, “When did you guys meet?”

“I don’t know?” Mickey shot back quickly and grouchily, still unsettled about what she was saying, “I think I was seven, he was five.”

“And how long have you been together?”

“Why do you care? What does this have to do with anything?”

“How long?”

Mickey huffed out a laugh and shook his head, “Seven years? I guess? I was seventeen, he was fifteen.”

She looked them over, Ian retracted into the couch, silent, and Mickey fired up, ready to fight. She leaned back and crossed her legs, narrowing her eyes, “I like you two.” 

“That’s great. Are we done?”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” she got up and began walking into the kitchen, socks slipping against the hardwood floor, “I will prescribe you one, and I mean _one_ pill.”

Mickey and Ian followed her, “No prescription.”

“What?” she stopped halfway through opening a drawer to retrieve her pad of white slips. 

“I can't get a prescription, I don’t have an ID.”

“I really hope you’re not asking me to deal you drugs?” she said, dumbfoundedly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Mickey just grinned at her, doe-eyed and innocent, hoping to win her over like he did with the prison guard, “Just one.”

It worked.

She sighed and licked her lips, “I will give you ONE for experimentation purposes only,” she said strongly, opened a cupboard and pulled a bottle out, popping the cap and spilling one little white pill onto the counter. “What I want you to do, is take this tonight about an hour before you want to fall asleep,” she pulled a Ziploc bag out of a drawer and tossed the single dose into it, “and I want you to sleep apart. One in the bed, one of the couch, doesn’t matter.”

They both nodded, Ian looping a finger into Mickey’s belt loop.

“You’re going to come back here tomorrow and let me know if it worked or not,” she kept the bag close her, “if you have trouble falling asleep, if you wake up in the middle of the night, if you start panicking, anything that disrupts you, I wanna know.”

“Okay,” he eyed the baggie.

“And if either of you tell anybody that I gave you this-”

“We won't,” they said in unison, almost suspiciously in sync. 

“This is so beyond illegal,” reluctantly, she held the under-the-table meds out while exhaling heavily, “I could get in so much trouble for this, you do realize that, right?”

Mickey snatched it and moved the pill around under the plastic with his thumbs before sliding it into his pants pocket, “We’re not the type to snitch.”

“Alright,” she shook her head in self-disappointment, “I’ll be here all day tomorrow, come by whenever you want.”

“Okay,” they headed toward the door, Ian exiting first. Mickey stopped midway and held his hand out with his payment, “Thank you.”

It was vague but sincere, and that was the point. Saying thank you for listening to me talk about my fucked up past, not judging me for it and risking your job and livelihood for me might’ve been a little much. She took the cash and replied simply, “You’re welcome.”

The door shut behind them as they made their way down the hallway and eventually into the elevator. They walked to the car, Mickey taking the driver’s seat, Ian the passenger. In was beaming, a wide grin spread across his face and Mickey immediately took notice before even sticking the key in the ignition, “The fuck are you smilin’ about?”

Ian looked at him with adoration and tenderness, “Just really proud of you.”

“Fuck off,” he dismissed, bashfully.

“I’m serious,” Ian brought a hand around Mickey’s neck, squeezing just a bit, “I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

“Whatever, man,” he patted his pocket, feeling one tiny bump under the fabric, “got what we went for, right?”

Ian hummed and forced Mickey’s head toward him, planting a kiss on his temple. Mickey went lax under his touch and let himself be pulled in, losing his hard, I don’t care attitude for a moment before returning to the upright position. He inserted the key in its slot, but didn’t turn it.

“What do you wanna have for dinner?” 

“I dunno,” Mickey leaned his elbow against the window, beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead, “I really don’t want them to come over, I really don’t.”

“It’ll be fine,” Ian cracked his door open to let in some air, albeit hot, “you’re making it out to be way worse than it is.”

“Nah, all they’re gonna wanna talk about is their gay son and how he’s going to some fancy fucking college in San Diego or some shit,” he wiped the perspiration off his skin with the back of his hand, “it’s like I’m their adopted token gay kid since theirs left them.”

“So? What’s wrong with supporting their kid and you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Mickey cracked his door too, the car quickly turning into a metal sauna, “it’s just, like, I don’t wanna be their kid, ya know? I can't say no to either of them ‘cause they have my entire life in the palms of their hands.”

“All they want is to have dinner in the house they own, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

“It’s not and I appreciate everything they do for me, but… I don’t know, they’re like the parents I never had,” he turned the key to start the car, obnoxious beeping blaring through the speakers, “they got have rules and give a shit about me for some reason. Not used to it.”

They shut the doors and Mickey turned the air conditioner on, warm arm penetrating their skin before slowly transitioning to ice cold. Ian fiddled with the vent, finding the perfect aim for the air to reach his face, “You pick what we have. You can have anything in the world, I’ll cook it.”

Mickey let his skin be cooled down and closed his eyes in concentration, trying to figure out what he’d been craving the most since leaving America, “Steak. Raw.”

“Okay,” Ian pulled out his phone to make a list: Oreos. Steak.

“Mashed potatoes,” Mickey’s mouth watered at the thought of something that wasn’t gas station junk food or Mexican, “garlic bread and some kinda salad, make Yev eat something that isn't pancakes.”

Ian typed out the ingredients needed for Mickey’s feast, adding some things that he noticed they were short on that morning, “Sounds good to me. They got Walmart down here?”

Mickey grumbled something under his breath, put the car into drive and drove straight to the superstore. He pushed the cart while Ian filled it up, the latter collecting a bunch of things that weren’t on his list, nor did they need, much to Mickey’s disagreement. The fuck did they need Top Ramen for?

“Oreos, we gotta get Oreos,” Ian tapped on his phone, deleting parts of the list as they went.

They explored every aisle, eventually grabbing two packs of the chocolate cookies. Went to the bakery and got the premade garlic bread, produce to get a couple Caesar salad mixes to make things simple. Five steaks, knowing Lana would share with Yev, and two bottles of wine, white and red, and an eighteen pack of Coronas were piled into the cart. By the time Ian wanted to buy stuff to make an apple pie in the middle of March, Mickey had to pull the plug. 

Mickey paid way more than he intended to, scowling at Ian throughout the entire scanning process. They drove home happily with groceries in tow, forcing Lana to come out and help them haul the bags inside. They gave her both packs of sweets which she then hid in an upper cabinet where Yev couldn’t find them.

“Thank you for cleaning,” Mickey noticed how the pillows were arranged neatly on the couch, throw blankets angled slightly on the backs of the furniture, all Yev’s toys packed up and out away in the chest in his room.

“I told you, you get cookies, I clean. Help me help you, yes?” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mickey boringly called back, arranging the rest of the food neatly in the fridge. 

They had a few hours before their guests would be arriving, so Mickey prepped the steaks while Ian gave Yev a bath, washing out the salt water in his hair and sand between his toes from swimming with his mom. 

“Don’t pee on me,” Ian said under his breath, water trickling down onto the floor as he carried a towel-wrapped Yev into his and Lana’s room.

“Shouldn’t have said that, now he’s gonna do it,” Mickey poured the marinade into plastic bags along with the meat. 

Yev was either feeling considerate or rebellious enough to go against what his dad said, thankfully, for Ian. He got him dressed in some tiny peach shorts, a teal, navy blue and white striped shirt, finishing with some socks. Ian brought him back into the bathroom, tub still draining, and styled his hair into a baby quiff. Yev scooped some product onto his fingers and did the same to his dad, doing more harm than good. 

Lana took her time in the one bathroom, curling her hair, sharpening her winged liner, perfecting her lipstick. 

Mickey sprayed Febreze in the living room to mask the lingering smell of cigarette smoke from that morning, probably going overboard with the scent of fresh linens. He covered the entire couch, the pillows, chairs, you name it. He wiped down the kitchen table with Clorox wipes and emptied the dishwasher all consecutively, reminiscent of the Energizer Bunny on acid. 

He set the table with the fancy plates and glasses, only to realize they didn’t have enough seats, “Shit- Ian!”

“Hm?” Ian came back from getting himself ready, buttoning up his plain, white shirt.

“Can you go out to the shed and get two more chairs, please? Fuck, maybe one? Yev could sit on Lana’s lap?” he pulled them away and tried to picture how it would look with an even or odd number.

“The hell’s your problem? Why are you acting like this?” Ian stole the chairs from Mickey’s grasp and slid them back under the table.

“Acting like what? I’m fine,” Mickey stepped back and narrowed his eyes, “no, get two. Two will look better.”

“You gotta relax, baby,” he slung his arm around Mickey’s shoulders and shuffled him toward the front door, forcing him away from his chair dilemma, “come on, take a breather, get some fresh air.”

“They just haven’t been here since I moved in,” they marched down the steps and onto the sand-covered concrete, moving around the house to the shed, “don’t want them to think we’re a buncha slobs fuckin’ their house up.”

“Mickey, the house is spotless,” he opened the door and made his way in, Mickey remained outside to, well, stay away from the spiders, “you cleaned everything, it smells like Bath and Body Works in there, for fuck’s sake,” he rummaged around the furniture and discarded artwork from when Mickey remodeled the house, “we got nothing to worry about, you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing- here,” he handed Mickey the spare wooden chairs one at a time, backed up and exited the shed ass first. 

Each carried one back into the house and squeezed them on either side of the table, “They’re gonna be here in like half an hour,” Mickey got a cutting board out and began chopping the potatoes. 

“Here,” Ian stole the knife out of his hand, “go get ready, I’ll finish this.”

Mickey reluctantly walked away, into their room and out of sight. Ian got Yev to come over and help him plop each individual piece of potato into the boiling water, dragging the process out for no reason other than to keep him occupied and prevent him for getting dirty. 

Eventually, there was a knock. Mickey flattened his shirt out and fixed his collar before opening the door, immediately met with hugs and kisses on the cheek, “Mikhailo!”

“Hey,” a red lipstick stain was pressed into his skin, “how’re you guys doin’?” This was going to be a long night.

“Good, good,” Bella removed her purse and went further into the house, “what happened in here? Everything’s new?”

Shit.

“Yeah, uh, I redecorated a little bit. Everything was kinda… yellow?” Mickey rubbed the back of his neck, praying to whatever God there is that he wasn’t about to be fired and evicted in one go.

“I love it,” she looked around the living room and kitchen, eyes grazing over the blue and white color scheme, “it’s beautiful. Did you do it all yourself?” 

“Yep,” he stepped to the side so Eric could come in, forgetting he was there for only a moment. 

“Where’s all our shit, though?” Eric teased, nudging him with an elbow.

“Out in the shed,” Mickey realized it was just the three of them awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, “um, let me go get everyone else. Kid got chocolate on his shirt. Sit down, relax, make yourselves at home since it is your home,” he laughed and went straight to the bathroom where Ian and Lana were scrubbing Yev’s face clean of Oreo crumbs.

“Come on, they’re here.”

“He needs new shirt. Can't meet special people naked,” Yev sat innocently on the counter, shirtless, next to his wasted outfit with cookie stains on it. 

“Alright. You, come here,” he yanked Ian’s bicep and forced him out of the room.

As they entered, the two guests had taken stake on the couch, reveling in how soft the cushions were. Mickey brought Ian around the back to stand in front of them like Ian was his Show and Tell item, “Bella, this is Ian. Ian, this is Bella.”

The woman gasped and covered her mouth with her palm, “I know you!”

“What?” Mickey looked back and forth between his virtually adoptive mother and almost husband.

“You were- oh, my goodness, that makes sense now!” she stood up and enveloped Ian in a hug. She was in awe and shock all at once, smiling and cupping his face with both hands, “He was in the store the other day buying barbeque Pringles and I said to him, I said, ‘We only keep those in stock for one person,’ and now- jeez, I get it now.”

“You met her? Why didn’t you say anything?” Mickey stared up at him, not mad, mainly just confused. 

“How was I supposed to know that was her?” Ian grinned and brought her in for another hug, loving being loved without having to do a single thing. He held a hand out for Eric while keeping the other on Bella’s back, “Nice to see you again.”

Eric nodded and shook his hand, “You too.”

“Alright, lovebirds, I gotta go get a shirt for the kid,” Mickey walked around the two people hugging and went into Yev’s room, found the first shirt he could find and took it to Lana, “Here.”

She popped Yev’s head through, “Arms up,” his arms went up. 

“Yev, you gotta be good, you hear me? No food on your clothes, no whining, none of that stuff,” Mickey fiddled with the kid’s hair, tucking the fallen strands behind the still-gelled chunks. 

He nodded and hopped off the counter, running into the main area. Mickey followed, Lana, too, after readjusting her boobs in the mirror and applying a final fresh coat of lipstick. 

The kid had attached himself to Ian’s thigh, shyness taking over instantaneously, “This is Yevgeny, but we all call him Yev ‘cause it’s easier. Yev, this is Bella and Eric, you remember Eric from dad’s work?” 

“Hello,” Bella waved her fingers harmlessly, speaking softly and gently, trying her best not to spook the child, “you can come out from behind there, we don’t bite.”

Yev timidly unlatched from Ian and took the hand Eric was extending out, shaking it just barely.

“He’s shy now, just wait a couple hours. He’ll be climbing all over you,” Lana came into the picture just as he was about to leave, “this is Svetlana, we call her Lana ‘cause, again, it’s easier.”

They said their introductions and she got some hugs and kisses from Bella, already making a new best friend within seconds. 

“You guys want something to drink? Beer? Wine? Water? I’m sure Yev could share some of his apple juice?” Ian moved into the kitchen and opened the fridge, ready to retrieve whatever was chosen. 

Yev climbed up onto Mickey’s lap who had taken a seat in the chair, Lana now sitting beside Bella, talking about mom things.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll take a beer, she probably wants- you got red wine?”

“Comin’ right up,” Ian collected the drinks and brought them back to the coffee table, placing each one on its own coaster. He plopped down in the chair opposite Mickey, using only eye contact to calm him down.

Mickey petted Yev’s hair, the kid’s curled up into his lap with his cheek on his dad’s chest. Things had gotten kind of quiet, everyone sipping their alcohol with the T.V. turned down low. 

“You know, we miss having kids so much,” _here we go_ , Mickey thought, “our only son’s away at college.”

“Really?” Ian questioned, playing dumb, “What’s his name?”

“Eduardo,” Bella cooed, covering her heart with her hand, “the love of our life.”

“Hm,” Ian crossed his legs and arched a brow at Mickey who was staring blankly back at him, “where’s he going to school?”

“San Diego State in California,” she took a swig of her wine, “I think you guys would like him.”

“Why is that?” Ian knew it was about to happen and so did Mickey, his head falling back as were his eyes.

“He’s… gay,” she confided, timidly.

“Wow!” Ian said enthusiastically, borderline mockingly, but kept an ounce of sincerity, “Mickey, did you know that?”

Mickey licked his lips and sucked in his bottom lip, forcing his head forward to nod, “They might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“That’s incredible,” Ian kissed both of their asses, acting so fond of a man he had never met, “well, we’d love to get to know him. When’s he coming back?”

“Alright,” Mickey, having enough of this gay son talk, got up and set Yev down in the same chair, “how do you want your steaks cooked?”

“Mmm… medium.”

“Me too,” Bella agreed.

“They’ll probably be well done, but I’ll see what I can do,” Mickey left the conversation and let the sounds of sizzling meat drown out the lovey-dovey chat happening only a few feet away. 

Ian kept the guests entertained and Yev slowly came out of his shell. He brought some toy cars from his room to play with Eric and Ian while the two ladies continued their heart-to-heart over children and Mickey finished dinner. 

“So,” Eric chewed on a piece of garlic bread, “how’d you all meet?”

“Uh,” Mickey started, “me and Ian met on a t-ball team, like, sixteen years ago, and me and Lana…” he moved around the mashed potatoes on his plate, unsure of how to go about talking about it for the second time that day, “that’s a long story.” 

“We have time.”

“I really don’t wanna talk about it,” his voice was small and vulnerable.

“Come on, Mikhailo,” Bella urged, “tell us how this little guy came to be,” she ran her fingers through Yev’s hair, thankful that he was finally comfortable around her. 

“Bella, I don’t wanna get into it, alright?” he was stern, keeping his eyes glued to the food in front of him.

The adults went quiet, almost too quiet. Mickey was uncomfortable and knew they were all staring at him, wondering what the fuck his problem was. Why couldn’t he just say how he and the mother of his child met? Why was it such a big deal?

“Alright,” Eric and Bella said in unison, “Ian, can we get a refill?” he held his empty beer bottle up and tipped the head to his wife’s bare glass.

Ian nodded and stood up, going out of his way to walk around the table to press a hand against Mickey’s back. He whispered, “It’s okay,” before gathering the drinks and stepping away.

Lana had swept Yev away to give him his second bath of the day as it was nearing his bedtime and Mickey took over after dinner was done, taking his sweet time doing the dishes to stay away from the guests for as long as he could manage. He could hear them telling Ian about their son and his boyfriend and how they’d have to get together when he comes back home. Ian, being the good host that he was, responded promisingly and acted like he actually gave a shit, boosting their ego and confidence levels. 

“Mickey!” Lana yelled from the bathroom. He ditched the pan he was scrubbing, dried his pruning hands on a towel and headed in.

“What? Woah,” he was taken aback by Yev chilling in the tub, rocking a bubble beard, “you look pretty cool, dude. Look like Santa.”

“Who?” Yev harmlessly asked, wiping the foam off his chin.

Mickey knitted his brows and looked back and forth between the two of them, “Santa? Santa Claus?”

“He does not know crazy, make-believe elf man in North Pole.”

“Wait, you’re tellin’ me you never did Christmas with him?” Mickey pulled a towel off the rack when Yev stood up, wrapped it around him and unplugged the drain.

“He gets gifts from me, but I do not lie to baby.” 

“I was raised by the fuckin’ devil himself and still had Christmas,” he picked Yev up bridal style, “who the hell raised you?” 

“Me,” she replied, lining up the kid’s toys on the edge of the tub.

“Whatever,” he started to carry Yev to his room, “you’re getting a Christmas this year.”

He got Yev dressed in cozy PJs and tucked into bed while Lana went back to mingling with the other three adults. Figuring his absence was justified because they already knew him and only needed to get to know Ian and Lana, he didn’t protest when his sleepy son asked him to read a bedtime story. 

Green Eggs and Ham was the choice of the evening. Mickey sat crisscross applesauce on the ground, back against Yev’s nightstand, and read through the rhyming book not once, not twice, but three times. After the third, Yev’s eyes were shut and he was breathing softly, his grip on his stuffed turtle loosened. Mickey tried to make his exit, delicately turning the light off and tiptoeing out of the room, almost making it out unnoticed until Yev spoke, “I want everyone to say ‘night.”

Mickey turned around and peeked his head in through the crack of the door, “Everyone?”

Yev nodded and Mickey did as was requested. He gathered everybody in the living room, including the homeowners, and brought them in to say good night to the life of the party. Each adult got their turn at giving a forehead kiss, pouring their love and affection onto the child who so desperately craved it. 

“Alright,” Eric found his wife’s jacket and held it open for her, “I think we gotta get going.”

“Aw,” Mickey whined, sarcastically, “already?”

“Yes, we have a lot to do tomorrow.” Bella tossed her purse over her shoulder, “Everything was delicious, though. Thank you so much, Mikhailo. You too,” she patted Ian and Lana on the cheeks and brought them both in for hugs before doing the same with Mickey. 

“Thank you, guys, for coming. Sorry I had to miss the last hour,” Mickey tried to fake his sorrow.

“No, no, no,” she assured, “babies always come first. We’ll see you at the store, right?”

“Yep. Might come in tomorrow for some more beer since these two drank it all,” he jokingly eyed Ian and Eric, “I’ll see you on Monday, man.”

“For sure,” they did some secret bro handshake and were shuffled out the door, Lana and Ian saying their own goodbyes.

“Thank fuck,” Mickey let out a pent-up breath, relieved to have his- well, not really- house back to himself.

“I like them,” Ian headed into the kitchen to finish the abandoned dishes, “you make them sound so much worse than they are.”

“What did I tell you, though? All they talked about was their fuckin’ kid,” Mickey sat down on the couch, Lana did the same, “kept wanting to tell them no one gives a shit.”

“They love him and love you, I don’t see anything wrong with that at all,” he started the dishwasher and joined his partners. “You really gotta relax, Mickey. Enjoy what they’re giving you and the life you have, it could be so much worse. It _has_ been so much worse, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mickey slid down deeper into the couch and ran his hands over his face.

The three of them sat out watching T.V. for a while until Lana was dozing off and called it a night. She kissed each boy on the head and gently entered her room, quietly closing the door behind her to not wake Yev. Ian and Mickey soon followed her lead and decided to hit the hay.

Apparently, they had developed had a nightly routine; Mickey showers while Ian responds to his family’s texts. He came out into the main room in a fresh pair of boxers, a cloud of steam trailing behind him, scrubbing the excess water out of his hair with a towel. 

He climbed under the covers, threw the towel onto his nightstand, and brought the covers up to under his chin. Ian stayed silent, replying to Carl about where he stashed his pull-up bar. 

“We’re old,” Mickey said, staring straight ahead at the blank wall. 

Ian set his phone aside and sunk deeper into the bed, turning onto his side to get a better view of his love’s expressionless face, “You’re twenty-three, you’re not old.”

“No, I mean, look at our lives,” he chewed at his bottom lip, “I wake up and go to work, you stay with the kid, I come home, eat dinner, we never bang anymore ‘cause I’m too tired, go to sleep, wake up and go to work.” He spoke flatly, without any emotion, “I’m in therapy for fuck’s sake. It’s the same shit every goddamn day.”

“You wanna fuck? We can fuck,” Ian refuted, brows raised.

“Nah,” Mickey shook his head and brought his hands up from under the comforter, swatting his idea away, “too much work.”

Ian’s eyes went wide and a laugh escaped his lungs, “Too much work?” he flopped onto his back and let himself actually break into a full-on chuckle, “too much work,” he repeated, making sure he heard him correctly, “you don’t do anything? You just lay there and take it, I’m the one burning all the fucking calories.”

Mickey started to grin, rethinking what he said. He hurled an arm across his eyes to hide the humiliation.

“Yeah, you’re realizing how dumb that sounded, huh?”

He rolled off the bed and onto his feet, rummaging through the nightstand drawer, “You want me to do the work? I can do the work.” 

“Be my guest.”

Mickey threw their bottle of lube in Ian’s direction and moved around to the foot of the mattress to climb up between his legs. Without a word, he yanked the covers off his love’s body and tugged his boxers down just enough to allow his flaccid cock free. He took the head into his mouth and swirled his tongue, Ian instantly responding. 

“Fuck,” Ian’s head fell back, hands into hair, as he gradually became harder and harder.

He loved being in control and knew Mickey loved losing control, but it was the rare times like these that fired them both up more than normal. Their routine was good, always _so_ good, but switching the roles and letting Mickey take over was Ian’s guilty pleasure. Not having to do the work, so to speak, was refreshing and new; a reset button, almost. 

Mickey’s head bobbed up and down, taking more into his throat with every movement. One hand was stretched up onto Ian’s abdomen, the other working what his mouth couldn’t reach. 

Once Ian was hot, hard and begging for more, Mickey pulled off and shuffled his own underwear off. He caged Ian’s thighs with his knees and grabbed the lube, squirted some into his palm and slicked Ian’s dick up. He lifted himself up and reached behind him to align the cock with his hole, leisurely and tenderly sitting down.

“No prep?” Ian moaned out as the exceptionally tight tunnel engulfed him.

Mickey tried to relax, tried to make his body adjust to the intrusion as quickly as possible, “Did it in the shower.”

It was like being split in two, but in the best way possible. Fucking this way was uncommon and neither knew why they didn’t do it more often. 

As he bottomed out, Mickey clenched around him, willing his muscles to give way. He started moving up and down, rolling his hips in circles and squeezing Ian’s pecks with his blunt fingernails. He’d pull up to where only the head was remaining inside him, his rim restricting the ridge of Ian’s cock from popping out, then would slam back down, trying to get him buried deeper and deeper. 

He leaned forward, angling himself so Ian would brush past that one sweet spot every time he bounced. Ian’s back arched off the bed, hands gripping Mickey’s hips strong enough to leave bruises. 

Mickey sat back again, inching closer to the finish line every time Ian thrusted upward, meeting him in perfect time as he pressed down, “I swear to God if that kid comes in here right now, I’m gonna- _fuck_ , fucking lose it.”

Ian grabbed hold of Mickey’s thick cock and stroked it toward him, directing the tip right at his face, “Come for me, baby, come on. Come for me.” He stuck his tongue out and closed his eyes, ready to take whatever Mickey was going to give him.

The pet name sent Mickey over the edge, it always did, and soon he was painting Ian’s flushed freckled skin with his sticky, white substance. As soon as the first drop hit his upper lip, Ian was coming too, filling Mickey up. His left eyelid was covered, come dribbling down his nose, as he licked his lips and pumped Mickey through both of their highs. 

The two men went limp, muscles slack, and Mickey collapsed forward, nuzzling into Ian’s neck, “Fuck,” he chuckled, still trying to catch his breath, “I needed that.”

Ian traced his fingers up Mickey’s spine, feeling each bump under his skin. He could stay like this forever, stay connected in such an intimate, private way, but right now there was come drying and gluing his eye shut, “I love you, but please get off me.” 

Mickey pulled back and raised himself up, noticing the spunk trickling out of his ass as he rose higher, “God, that’s never not gonna be fucking disgusting,” he leaned over and grabbed the towel off his nightstand and wiped Ian down first, then himself. 

He threw the rag into the laundry basket and put his underwear back on, moving into the bathroom.

“You gonna take it now?” Ian called out, still trying to get the sensation of come off his skin, rubbing and picking at his eyebrow hairs. 

“I guess,” Mickey found the baggie in a medicine cabinet and tipped it over so the pill fell into his palm, rolling it between his index finger and thumb, “think it’ll work?”

Ian came into the room with him, leaning up against the doorframe, arms crossed, “I think it’ll at least help. Can't expect one little pill to fix everything.” 

“Yours do?” 

“Yeah, but I've been taking mine for years,” that reminded Ian he needed to take his own, “come on, take it.” He located his white-capped, yellow bottles and poured out his nightly dose, “We look like a couple druggies.”

Mickey laughed and popped his pill, leaning into the sink to drink from the faucet, Ian following suit. 

“Feel anything?” Ian asked only seconds after Mickey swallowed the capsule. 

“Yeah, dude, I feel like I’m gonna pass out right now,” he garbled his words and pretended to faint, clinging to Ian to stop himself from falling to his knees. 

“Shut up,” Ian smiled and pull Mickey back up to stand on his feet, walking him back into the bedroom, “come on.”

“Alright,” Mickey stole his pillow off their bed and tucked it under his arm, “I’ll take the couch.”

“No, this is your room,” Ian hastily seized the object and threw it back where it belonged, “I’ll go out there, you stay.”

“Since when the fuck is it only my room? Nah, you stay in here. It smells too much like you, gotta get as far away from you as possible.”

“Whatever, man,” Ian handed him his pillow again, too tired to argue, “I’ll go out there with you for a minute, wait for it to kick in.” 

They snuggled on the couch and watched muted episodes of Full House to dub it with their own interpretations of how the conversations were going. Mickey added a lot of ‘fucks’ to the young girls’ dialogue, Ian took over for the men.

Eventually, Ian knew Mickey had fallen asleep from his commentary coming to a halt. He nudged him with an elbow, making Mickey lift his head off Ian’s shoulder and squint his eyes, “Hmm?”

“You were sleeping.”

Mickey groaned and stretched his arms up then relaxed back against Ian, slurring his words, “Can't keep my eyes open.”

“That’s the whole point,” Ian stood up, forcing Mickey to keep himself upright, “here, lay down.”

He put the pillow at one of the temporary bed and pushed on Mickey’s right shoulder to tip him over. He got a blanket and covered him up, planting a kiss on his temple, “I’m literally, like, twenty feet away, alright?” 

Mickey just hummed and tightened the blanket around him, snuggling his face into the back of the couch. Ian went back into their room and shut the door, closing himself off from his love. 

For the first time since before the border, he fell asleep on his own with ease and without a struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanna make something clear that i forgot to mention in the last chapter: i've never been to therapy and therefore have no idea if my portrayal is correct or not, but it's also not supposed to be 100% authentic and real.. kinda leaning more toward illegal, ya know? anyway, i hope you enjoyed this and i apologize for it taking another two months :(


	8. Chapter 8

The sleep was good. It was consistent and intense, keeping him locked away in an alternate universe for hours without ever letting up. He shifted around, moving from his side to his back and returning to the original position, but never once did the pill’s purpose fade away. 

His brain had developed a life of its own, letting him travel through time back to when he was a kid where growling stomachs, dirty skin and fists to the face were all he saw in his future. In the dream, he found himself with a young Ian in their school cafeteria. He had no lunch, only his nails and bottom lip to chew on, but Ian had a full spread; pizza, chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, chocolate milk. Everything an eight-year-old could ever want was right in front of him, some smeared around his mouth as he chomped down on a single slice of pepperoni he pulled from the pizza. 

Although they weren’t sitting directly across from each other, their eyes kept drifting to peek at one another. Mickey would slowly move his gaze to take a look at the food, stomach grumbling and folding in on itself every time, but when Ian would catch him, he would avert his stare back to his boney, gnawed-on fingers. 

A high-pitched voice came from the little boy with a face full of freckles and a mop of orange curls sitting atop his head, “Do you want some?” 

Mickey instinctively shook his head, knowing better than to take handouts from anybody, even if it felt like his body was eating itself alive. He heard something scrape across the tabletop and come to a stop by his right elbow. Looking up, it was a paper basket full of nuggets with a dollop of ketchup in one of the corners. 

The scent of fried meat and grease made his stomach rumble loud enough for the kid to hear, shooting Mickey a look of concern. “I don’t want it,” he pushed the food back to its original owner, fighting back the urge to stuff his mouth full of the processed chicken. 

“I don’t like them, anyway,” Ian sent it back over.

He contemplated it for a few moments, the other boy having gone back to shoveling spoonful after spoonful of macaroni into his mouth. His mouth was watering, something to satisfy the angry pit in his belly was sitting in front of him and his usual cares about being pitied were out the window… fuck it. 

He should’ve taken his time, should’ve savored each bite as it went down and settled, slowly filling him up, but he couldn’t stop himself. Piece after piece, the basket was becoming empty. 

Ian sneakily watched out the corner of his eye as this older, unkempt kid with greasy hair and dirt under his fingernails devoured the artificial meat as if it was the greatest thing to ever touch his taste buds. He knew what it was like to go without food, knew what it’s like to wolf down your first meal in days. That was his life until his sister got him and his siblings on the free lunch program, saving them an enormous amount of money and anxiety. He took the opened carton of milk from his tray and slid it over, hoping the other kid wouldn’t mind if it was half empty with his boy cooties on the opening.

Mickey swallowed hard, mouth still full of chicken, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. He waited until everything had been eaten before picking up the milk and chugged it down.

Before he could finish, there was an arm around his neck that restricted his throat, liquid collecting in his mouth as he choked. He dropped the drink and grabbed onto the forearm that had him in a headlock, pulling and scraping at the skin with whatever energy he had, trying to pry it off his chest. Mickey could smell his dad, smell the alcohol and marijuana seeping from his pores and into his son’s nose. 

_Never take handouts._

_You eat what I give you._

_You ungrateful piece of shi-_

Mickey shot up from the couch and inhaled sharply, like he had been drowning and just came up for air. His chest heaved, trying to catch his breath and fill his lungs back up with oxygen. Eyes frantically going from place to place, checking each door and window for intruders or suspicious activity. Just when his heart rate began to calm, it sped back up with a tiny finger poking at his bicep, “Jesus fucking Christ!”

He jumped away from the touch before seeing what it was, the source also flinching away, startled. Mickey slowly turned his head, expecting to see some kind of demon burglar, but was met with a sleepy, messy-haired Yev, rubbing his eyes with little fists. His too-big pajama shirt was hung lowly off one shoulder making his frame look even smaller than usual.

“Yev, what are you doing?” Mickey let himself relax, moving to sit normally on the couch with his son standing between his knees. “What’s goin’ on, why are you awake?” he carded his fingers through Yev’s hair, parting and pushing it to one side. 

It was crazy to him how quickly he went from being defensive and aggressive, bordering on violent, to soft and selfless, only caring about Yev and forgetting about the dream turned nightmare he just woke up from. How this little person had such a problem-numbing effect on him, one look and Mickey could turn to mush. 

“I wanna sleep with you and Ian,” his voice was scratchy and hushed as he leaned in closer to his dad, nuzzling his cheek into Mickey’s chest. 

Mickey gave his back a few comforting rubs, “You gotta sleep in your own bed, bud.” Yev wrapped his arms around Mickey’s neck and flexed his feet, bouncing up and down a couple times to signal he wanted to be picked up. He got his way as Mickey leaned back and pulled Yev up and onto his lap, “You’re almost five, you can’t sleep with us forever.”

“You’re not in your bed,” he spoke wittily yet leisurely, exhaustion beginning to take over.

Mickey let out a breathy laugh through his nose and shifted to lie back down, Yev flat against his abdomen, head on his dad’s heart, “Yeah, you got me there.” 

He closed his eyes and kept his hand making circular motions, soothing the kid back to sleep. That method didn’t work for him, though. Once he felt Yev take a final deep breath followed by his body going limp, Mickey stilled his movements.

His eyes remained shut and he tried to transport himself into a happier dream, maybe something lighter and fresh, not so dark. He readjusted his position, thinking maybe he was too uncomfortable to fall asleep, but that didn’t work. He tried everything short of counting sheep, and eventually, he gave into that, too. 

An hour had passed, he had turned the T.V on to keep an eye on the clock, but also hoping maybe some background noise would held drown his thoughts. Didn’t work. 

By the time six o’clock rolled around, he had watched four episodes of Spanish-dubbed Family Guy and the sun was beginning to rise. He was restless and frustrated with burning eyes and a subtle headache from the way his neck was angled; it would definitely cause a kink, and not the good kind.

He turned the television off and kept a hand at the base of Yev’s head, holding him close against his chest as he gently arose from the couch and stood up. Staying still for a moment, he let the blood redistribute throughout his veins and waited for this sudden dizziness to subside. 

His eyes fluttered shut and he swayed side to side, acting as an upright rocking chair when Yev started to fuss. Fingertips raked up and down his son’s shirt-covered skin, lingering until Yev went slack under his touch again. 

Once he could open his eyes and feel like the room wasn’t spinning, he quietly walked into Lana’s room and attempted to place Yev back into his bed as smoothly as he could, trying his hardest not to disrupt the boy. He kneeled closer to the mattress and peeled his son off his chest, cradled his head and laid him down gradually, like if he moved too fast, Yev would break. 

He covered the boy up with his covers and tucked them under his chin, brushing the hair off his forehead a planting a barely-there kiss right between his eyebrows. He closed their door behind him and considered going back to the couch for a second, but he knew himself and his fucked up needs too well to even entertain the idea of falling back to sleep with Ian around him. 

Opening his and Ian’s door, the latter was curled up on his side of the bed, air wheezing as he flowed through his nostrils. He hated Ian for being able to sleep with no problem, hated Lana too. As of right now, it was him and Yev against the hibernating bears; they’d have to stick together. 

The door was left cracked, knowing all too well that Yev would probably show up sooner or later. Mickey climbed up onto his side of the bed and slid under the sheets, scooting until his body was flush against Ian’s back. He nestled his face into his love’s neck and slung his right arm around his waist, peppering kisses under his ear until Ian started wiggling awake. 

Ian groaned and automatically arched back toward him. “What are you doing?” his cheek was smashed against his pillow, words coming out mumbled and rough. 

“Yev woke me up,” kiss on his shoulder, “couldn’t go back to sleep.” It wasn’t the complete truth, but he wasn’t about to worry Ian with talk about nightmares when he was supposed to be sleeping soundly with no interruptions. 

“He in here?” 

“Will be,” he brushed his nose across the base of Ian’s hairline. “Can you do me a favor?” 

Ian hummed and stretched his arms out, legs straight, assuming what request was coming. Mickey flipped over first, Ian following right after, switching their positions with ease, the smaller man now entirely enveloped by his pretty-much-husband’s huge frame. Mickey felt him let out a long sigh, unable to tell whether it was from contentment or irritation. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have come to bed, maybe he should’ve stayed on the couch. If he did that, though, he would transform into zombie-mode and Ian still wouldn’t be satisfied. It was a no-win situation that Mickey wished he could fix, but it was out of his hands.

“Don’t be mad,” he whispered, pushing his hips back to click with Ian’s like a puzzle piece.

Ian strengthened his grip and threw a leg over Mickey’s thigh, using his weight as a security blanket of reassurance, “Not mad, baby.” He let his lips graze over the buzzed, baby hairs on Mickey’s neck and inhaled deeply, “Just wish it was a one and done, you know?”

Mickey muttered a slow and dragged out, “Mhm,” as his eyes became heavy. “How do you do this to me?” he could feel Ian’s breath across his skin, goose bumps forming all down his arms. 

“Hm?”

“Out there tossing and turning for hours, you touch me once and I feel like I’m drunk,” he slurred his words and snuggled his face into his pillow.

A small rumble rolled up Ian’s throat in agreement and they both dozed off momentarily until their door squeaked as it was opened, a pattering of small feet trailing toward Mickey’s side. Yev used the bed frame as a stepping stool to give him a boost, gripping onto the sheets to completely pull himself up next to his stubborn dad. 

“Yev, go back to your bed,” Mickey spoke weakly and unconvincingly, never once opening his eyes. Yev tried to move the covers back, tried to squeeze underneath them, but his dad kept an arm over the hem, preventing any entry. He huffed and whined, pushing his bottom lip out in an overdramatic pout for no one to see. Mickey was awake, could hear the kid struggle and sigh when he was unsuccessful in tucking himself in, but didn’t budge; he kept his arm extended like a barricade, locking the sheet in place. 

Eventually, Yev jumped off the bed with a thump and disobediently ran to Ian’s side, assuming his typically lenient and passive dad would cave and let him cuddle up without a fight. Before his little legs could get him to the other side of his parent’s king sized bed, Mickey had rolled over and pushed Ian onto his back, filling up any excess space on the opposite side. 

The kid fell to the floor in a tired fit of rage and began crying, kicking his feet on the floor to echo throughout the house. Ian just groaned and stuffed his head between the mattress and his pillow to muffle the wailing, while Mickey waited for Lana to come to the rescue. That never happened.

He wasn’t counting, but Mickey was sure it had been at least a half an hour of straight real crying turned to fake weeping before he gave up and begrudgingly shuffled to Ian’s side, picked Yev up and took him into the kitchen. Sleep was a lost cause. 

Yev was placed on his designated wooden chair at the dinner table, still pretending to sob, while Mickey started a pot of coffee and made two bowls of cereal, trying to use the clashing of Froot Loops against porcelain to block out the whining that drove him up a wall. He put one in front of Yev, the other in front of his space, and made another trip to get a cup of pure caffeine, finishing his travels by falling into an uncomfortable chair and willed himself to forget about the cushy bed with a warm body in it not thirty feet away.

“What’s goin’ on, kid?” he sipped his coffee and leaned back, moving the cereal around to coat it all in milk. “Why can’t you sleep in your own bed?”

Yev shrugged and wiped the one real tear off his cheek, timidly going for his bowl, not wanting to give his dad any sort of satisfaction. 

“That’s not an answer, c’mon,” he urged his son on, chewing the sugary breakfast and chasing it with the scalding hot black liquid, “you’re four and a half years old, Yev, you gotta stop doing this.” He drank some of the milk in his bowl to cool his nearly burned throat, “What is it? Why can’t you sleep in there?” he spoke sincerely, genuinely looking for a solution to the problem, “You gotta talk to me so I can fix whatever it is.”

The child had started eating his way-too-early breakfast, savoring the sweetness and not caring that he fell into his dad’s trap, “I just wanna be with you and daddy Ian.” 

“I know that,” Mickey wasn’t sure when he picked up on these mature, almost therapy-like tactics, but they were sure coming in handy, “but you can’t. We got you your own bed ‘cause you’re old enough to sleep by yourself. You’re not a baby anymore, you don’t need to be with us.” 

Yev ignored him and finished off his cereal, drinking the milk and wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand. Mickey stacked the empty bowls and continued when it was clear his son wasn’t going to respond, “Are you scared of something? Does the nightlight keep you up? Are you too hot? Too cold? C’mon, talk to me.” 

“No,” was all he replied with, leaving Mickey confused.

“No, what? Do you even sleep when we put you to bed, or do you just pretend and wait a couple hours to come in our room?” he chugged the rest of his coffee, already itching for a refill. 

“Both.”

“Both? What you mean, ‘both’?” he could sense Yev becoming restless with this interrogation, as was he. Something had to give, he just had to ask the right question to hit the jackpot, “Which one is it?”

“I sleep ‘til mommy comes in and I wake up.” 

Mickey took a moment to map out exactly what his nights must look like: sleep for an hour or two, lay there staring at the ceiling for another two to four hours until he gets so bored he resorts to sleeping with his dads. His therapy-like tactics weren't gonna be enough to fix this, and he didn’t know if there was anything he could actually do. 

“Okay,” he fiddled with the handle of his mug, “but if you wanna sleep with someone else, why not just go into mom’s bed? She’s right there, you don’t gotta come all the way to us.”

Yev yawned and retracted into his chair, looking petite and sleepy, speaking softly, “I don’t want you to leave again.”

Bingo. He felt his chest tighten, like he was the Grinch with a heart growing ten times its normal size. This poor child was losing sleep over his anxieties and only found solace with his dad, and if Mickey wasn’t half asleep, he would’ve realized he similarities. 

He had to handle this topic with care, had to be strategic with his wording and watchful of what promises he made, “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Yev.” He relaxed back with his legs spread and let out a yawn, causing his son to mimic the action.

“Sometimes I wake up and you aren’t here,” Yev confessed as he rubbed his eyes with both fists. 

“Yeah,” Mickey laughed lightly, “‘cause I’m at work.” He saw the kid look at him confused and a little hurt, “I gotta work so we can eat and you can have water to take baths and watch T.V. and have a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs. It all costs money, and I make the money so mom and Ian can stay here with you, does that make sense?” 

Yev shook his head defiantly, “I want you to stay home.”

“Why?” he looked pathetically into his empty cup with furrowed brows, wishing he was awake enough to pour himself another serving. “Mom and Ian are way cooler than me,” he paused and rethought that statement, “well, I’m not sure about mom, but Ian’s the cool dad, right? I’m the boring one.” Yev giggled at the subtle insult of his mom, nodded at the correct definition of his second dad, and went to stand up, “Why don’t you go chill on the couch, huh? I’ll be over in a minute.”

The kid took his directions and curled up into a ball, knees brought up to his chin, while Mickey cleaned their dishes. He used the few moments alone to think over what Yev had admitted to him and tried to imagine what he could do to help. All the scenarios circled back to one impossible, unrealistic answer: let Yev sleep with them.

It couldn’t happen, he knew it couldn’t happen, but what other option was there? He was too young for sleeping pills, he would wake up if Ian or Mickey stayed with him in his bed, but only until he was asleep, and their room was too small to fit another bed in it. He would grow out of it, eventually. He had to. 

He filled the dishwasher quietly and slowly, attempting to prevent the clanging of porcelain against porcelain from escalating further than it had to. Figuring he might as well try to sleep again for the sake of his sanity, he turned the coffee pot off and went to the couch with his son. He actually got comfortable this time, lying down correctly with his head properly supported with a throw pillow. Patting a palm on his sternum like he was inviting a cat to crawl up on him, Yev took the offer and went chest to chest with his dad. Mickey pulled the blanket over the both of them and let his lids fall shut, hoping to at least let them regain some moisture and maybe feel a little more refreshed. 

Hours had gone by and the sun was now blaring through the glass door and landing directly on Mickey’s face. His skin was becoming warm, eye seeing nothing but red as he lie awake listening to Yev breathe steadily through a slack-jawed, open mouth, cheek scrunched up against the fabric of his dad’s shirt. 

Mickey heard some shuffling going on in the kitchen, water in the sink turn on, then off. He listened as the fridge opened, the coffee maker switch was flicked back on, and a cup was brought down from a cupboard. The wooden door slammed closed a little too loudly and was followed by a roughly whispered, “Shit.”

“Ian?” Mickey muttered, trying to keep his voice down and the kid asleep. He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it, now only seeing a rainbow of colors transitioning into different shapes and designs with black and white specks joining the party.

“Fuck, did I wake you up?” Mickey could hear him fill one mug up, then another. He came over to the couch and set both cups on the coffee table, lifted Mickey’s shins up and gently sat down, resting his feet across his lap like a seatbelt. 

Mickey scoffed and gave Yev a single rub from the base of his neck, down his spine and to the small of his back, “You think I was sleeping?” 

He felt his legs get squeezed between Ian’s stomach and his thighs as he bent over to grab his cup of caffeine liquefied, “Not even a little bit?”

“Look, I’d really like to drink that before it goes cold,” he pointed a finger outward to the mug. “Can you close those fucking blinds and get this kid off me? Please?” Mickey squirmed underneath Yev uncomfortably, scooting his back further up the arm of the couch, wanting nothing more than to be freed from this dead weight and to chug that drink, even if it burned the shit out of his throat. 

Ian maneuvered his way out from under Mickey’s legs and rolled the cover over the glass door, giving Mickey instant relief. He let his eyes relax, no longer squinted and taut, blinking a few times until they adjusted to the now dim living room. “It’s almost ten, just let him wake up on his own,” Ian didn’t bother going back on the couch, but chose the chair instead, still sipping his coffee. “Why’s he so tired, anyway?” 

“‘Cause he barely slept,” Mickey yawned and let his left arm dangle off the side of the couch, his right still on Yev’s back. He forgot to use his inside, the-baby-is-sleeping voice, which caused the child to whine and adjust his grip on the underside of his dad’s ribs.

Ian watched as Mickey soothed Yev, wrapping both arms around him to keep him secure as he started to wiggle. Watched as the opportunity he had to wake him up fully and escape from the prison known as a sleeping child slipped away, all without a second thought. He knew Mickey could be soft, was soft, but to see him be that way with someone other than himself in such a vulnerable, selfless way made his heart swell. Being a fly on the wall instead of on the receiving end of Mickey’s nurturing was something he would never get tired of. He waited for Yev to settle and let out a deep breath to continue, “What do you mean?” 

“I asked him if he sleeps when we put him to bed or if he pretends,” Mickey tilted his head to the side, making sure the kid’s eyes were shut, “and he said he sleeps ‘til Lana goes in there, which wakes him up, then just lays there ‘til he comes into our room.”

Hearing her name, Lana’s door opened and she strolled out in her red, floral, silk robe, “What about me?” 

Mickey and Ian both gave an aggressive and synchronized, “Shh,” pointing at the kid who was now nearing consciousness. She entered the group and took the chair opposite Ian, stealing Mickey’s lukewarm cup of coffee.

“He goes to bed at what, eight thirty? Nine? Wakes up at midnight and stares at the fuckin’ ceiling until he comes to us ‘cause he’s afraid of me leaving again,” Mickey traced his fingers up Yev’s spine, feeling each bump along his vertebra. 

“He told you this?” Lana peeked over her mug, turning her face up at how cold the drink had become. 

Mickey hummed right as Yev started shifting around, lifting his head up for a moment before flopping it back down on his dad’s chest, not wanting to wake up, “Morning, bud.” 

Yev covered his face with his hands and rubbed his puffy eyes, eventually bringing his head up to look at his mom, hair sticking up in all different directions. He was groggy and confused, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Ian and yawn in his direction like a lion roaring. After realizing where he was, he stayed put on Mickey’s chest, relaxing back down, ear flush against his beating heart. He was awake, though; eyes blinking lethargically.

Lana and Ian continued a conversation about the plans for the day while Yev extended his arm, pointer finger aiming toward the T.V., “What? You want it on?” Mickey said quietly to the top of the kid’s head, unable to see his face. He felt Yev nod, his arm now falling limp along the edge of the couch, “Nah, you gotta get up.”

The kid shook his head and buried his face into Mickey’s shirt, words coming out muffled, “T.V.”

“No T.V.,” Mickey tried to push Yev up and off him, but the kid just scrambled and wrapped his arms around Mickey’s neck, face now awkwardly smashed against his dad’s. Mickey let out an exaggerated sigh and knew he had to call in the troops, “Hey, you guys know how to get this lump off me?”

All three parents could see his back bounce a couple times, showing he was giggling, “I think I do,” Ian stood up and put his hands up like paws.

“Oh, man, he’s gonna tickle you, Yev,” was all Mickey had to say before the kid leaped off him and ran away, sliding through the small gap between the couch and Lana’s occupied chair, then disappearing into his room behind a closed door. 

Ian grabbed his empty cup along with Lana’s still-full, cold one and went to give them both refills, pouring Mickey one, too.

Mickey rose from the couch, back cracking in the process, “Fuck.” He sat with his legs stretched out to get his blood moving, careful not to budge when they began tingling. Standing up on weak knees, he twisted his torso back and forth, hearing pops radiate from the bottom of his spine to the top. 

“Here,” Mickey stole a cup from Ian’s abnormally large hand and settled back into the couch, letting the muscles running across his shoulders loosen. Ian gave Lana her refill and kept one for himself, plopping down onto his chair, “What’d you tell him?” 

“That I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he winced at the black liquid hitting his tongue, hunching over when he felt the burn flow through his throat enough to feel it in his back, “but it was probably stupid to say that, though.”

“Why?” Ian asked, blowing a stream of air on the surface of his drink like some sophisticated smartass.

“‘Cause now I got his hopes up,” he saw what Ian was doing and copied his idea, “and no one knows if it’s true or not. Could get caught tomorrow and the kid’s gonna hate me forever.”

“You don’t know that.”

“That’s the point,” Mickey set his mug on a pillow to get the red-hot porcelain off his skin, keeping it steady with his palm covering the rim. “No one knows, so I shouldn’t be promising him anything.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” Ian finally took a sip of his cooled-down coffee. “You barely go outside during the day, you keep a low profile, you give the cops no reason or opportunity to find you.”

“I know that, but it’s the fact that I _could_ be caught- whatever,” he stopped himself before the conversation got repetitive and he started sounding like a broken record, “we got shit to do, come on.” 

He and Ian booth stood to leave, but as they set their cups down and turned to exit the room, Lana tried to get the last word in, “You take Yevgeny with you.” 

“What?” Mickey stopped, Ian continued into their room, “We’re goin’ to the fuckin’ shrink, he can't come.”

“He needs more outside time, and I need alone time,” she got up, collected the mugs, and doing the wifely duties she was always so good at, transferred them to the sink, “you take him.”

“Outside ti- he’s gonna be sitting in the car, then in this chick’s apartment. The beach is literally right there,” he extended his arm toward the back door, “put those floaty things on him, let him go crazy, you chill on a towel or somethin’. Kill two birds with one stone.”

“He goes with you,” she said with finality and looked at him with pleading, begging eyes. 

He was too tired and too not in the mood for arguing, so he gave up, “Whatever.” She nodded in agreement and went back to rinsing the cups free of the brown stains inside, “Can you get him dressed at least? We gotta go.”

She hummed and dried her hands off, both disappearing through separate doors.

“What are we gonna do with him?” Mickey spoke under his breath and peeked out the corner of his eye to make sure the kid wasn’t listening, “I don’t want him hearing all this shit about me.”

Ian kept his focus on the road, one hand controlling the steering wheel, the other on Mickey’s thigh, “You’re just gonna tell her you couldn’t stay asleep, it shouldn’t be too bad.” Yev kicked his feet against the back of Ian’s seat, bopping his head to a song on the radio in his own little world, “I can stay downstairs with him if you wanna go up by yourself.”

“No,” Mickey covered the back of Ian’s hand with his own palm, “no, you’re right, it’ll be fine.”

“I’ll stay with him in the living room, you guys can talk in the kitchen or somethin’,” Ian offered, pulling into the apartment complex and stealing the best spot in the lot, right in front of the entrance, “be outta there in a couple minutes.”

The car was put into park and both men stepped out into the heat, the sun all too hot in contrast to their previously air conditioned skin. Ian unbuckled Yev from his car seat, the kid instantly running to the sliding glass door ahead of his dads. His little flip flops clicked against the concrete and eventually the tile as he entered the building. “No, Yev, over here,” Mickey reeled his overexcited son back a bit to lead him into the elevator. 

“Push number three,” Ian instructed. Yev put tip of his finger on the correct button and looked up for confirmation, and as soon as Ian nodded, it was pushed; not once, not twice, but roughly ten times as if that would make a difference. 

“Shit,” Mickey let out wide-eyed. He moved over in the confined box to lean up into Ian’s ear, “What are we gonna call him? We can’t call him Yev.” 

“Fuck,” Yev turned his head away from the changing number above the door, dinging as it reached the third floor, and glared at Ian for the use of a curse word, making Ian cover his mouth with a palm. 

They exited and Yev lead the way even though he had no clue where he was going, “Nope, get back here,” Mickey called while the kid came to a halt and dramatically rotated to come back to his dad.

Two knocks later and the door was opened to reveal Dr. Oliver in her Sunday Casual attire. Her eyes connected with the two men while her lips formed into a beaming smile, “Good morning, guys.” She must’ve seen something moving restlessly from below her line of vision, because as she averted her gaze downward, her face became soft and motherly, “Oh my goodness,” her voice was raised as well, “who do we have here?” She knelt down to Yev’s level and extended a hand, “What’s your name?” 

Yev gave her his left hand, clearly displaying his four-year-old level social skills. “Yevg-” before he could finish, Mickey interjected and cut him off. 

“His name’s, uh,” trying his hardest to not look suspicious, he looked up at Ian for help, “uh, Vinny. His name’s Vinny.”

“Vinny?” she asked, seemingly convinced, retracted her hand, stood up and let the boys through.

“Yeah, like Vincent,” they all shuffled into her temporary home, compiling in the kitchen. Mickey shrugged at Ian with big eyes and a shocked, exaggerated frown, almost to silently say _Where the hell did that come from? Who cares, it worked._

“No, it’s n-” Ian covered Yev’s mouth and walked him into the living room, the kid fighting for freedom under his dad’s firm grip across his face.

He sat Yev down on the couch and got down on his knees to try and explain to a child why he couldn’t use his real name. Ian tried to turn it into a game, “You’re Vinny, dad’s Matty and I’m Ivan. We’re gonna play pretend, alright?” Yev looked at him with knitted brows, skeptically, squeezing the Fun Dad for all he was worth and forcing Ian to turn off the Talking to Kids voice, “You do this for me, we’ll go get ice cream afterwards.” 

That got him to cooperate, nodding his head vigorously with an excited grin. 

“So, how’d it go?” she asked, leaning against the island’s counter parallel to Mickey. 

“Fine,” he started, “fell asleep real quick, which was good.” He folded his arms across his chest and rest back, feeling the hem of his shirt turn damp from droplets of water around the sink, “I was havin’ a dream, but it turned into a nightmare, so I woke up freakin’ the fuck out. Couldn’t go back to sleep.” 

“Hold on, one second,” she quickly walked to the main area to grab her notepad and a pen, giving Yev a wave on her way back. “Okay, what was the dream about?”

He watched as she flipped through the pages and found the ones scribbled with information about him and all his issues, “We were kids eating lunch at school and I didn’t have anything to eat, but he had everything. So he gave me milk or something?”

“‘We’ meaning you and Ivan?” 

“Yeah,” she wrote down the confirmation, “and then I think the kid was poking at my neck tryin’ to wake me up, so I started choking in the dream.” He shifted uncomfortably, switching the position of his feet repeatedly, “There was an arm around my throat, like a chokehold, ya know?” Ian glanced toward him, overhearing the description, “And it was my dad, I know it was my dad.” 

She paused her hand mid-sentence, “What happened after you woke up?”

“I put Ye- Vinny,” he caught himself, “back in his bed. I tried sleeping on the couch, couldn’t, gave up and went back to our bed.” Mickey took a look over at Ian to see him helping 

Yev rearrange a vase of fake flowers, putting clusters of baby’s breath wherever there was a gap, doing anything to keep the child occupied.

“Do you think you would’ve stayed asleep had he not woken you up?” 

“Yeah,” he hesitated, “probably.”

“Alright,” she finished writing his experience down and closed the book with the pen inside, “you know I’m not gonna give you another pill today, right?” 

He nodded and yawned, covering his mouth with a fist, “I figured.” 

“Yesterday, you mentioned Ivan leaving again in a few weeks,” she set the book on the counter behind her and copied Mickey’s stance, “we’ll try again when that time comes, alright?” 

“He’s not gonna come back,” the tired words spoken were barely audible and said with a blank face, almost as if they slipped out without the consent of the body they came from. He was in a daze, staring off at Ian, but not quite focusing on anything. 

“What?”

He blinked once, like a snap to bring someone out of their hypnosis session, “Nothing.”

“He’s a cute kid,” she joined him in watching Yev take everything off the table, only to put it back seconds later in just the way he wanted the stuff to be organized, “seems pretty well-behaved for a boy that young.” 

“He is,” Mickey agreed. “Glued to my fuckin’ hip, though.” 

“What do you mean?” she questioned while Yev started fixing the flowers again, unhappy with the previous arrangement. 

“Wakes up in the middle of the night to sleep with us, cries whenever I leave the house without him,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets, fingers sliding against cash, “told me this morning he can't sleep alone ‘cause he thinks I’m gonna leave again.”

She cocked her head to the side and bit the corner of her lip, wanting him to put the pieces together so she wouldn’t have to say anything, “Doesn’t that sound a little familiar?” 

He turned his head back to look at her, trying to think back to what he had just said. His groggy brain worked as hard as it could to remember, and then it clicked. He let out a breathy laugh and tilted his face down to his feet, “Yeah, I guess it does.”

“That’s something to think about,” she bumped her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a knuckle, “something to make you more aware of how Ivan feels, too.” Mickey gave her a confused look, still fiddling with the corner of a bill in his pocket, “You’re the Vinny of your relationship. How you feel about him is how Ivan feels about you. How do you feel about him?”

His eyes flickered back and forth between his feet, feeling stupid and naïve, realizing anything he said would correlate perfectly to him and Ian, “Don’t know how to make him believe I’m not gonna leave.” 

She nodded and hummed, sympathetically, “Might give you a new perspective, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he quickly replied, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the amount of guilt bubbling up inside, “here,” he handed her the cash.

“Don’t worry about it,” she pushed his offer away and back toward his chest, “seeing your mini-me was payment enough.” 

“No, it’s your day off and my kid just fucked your house up,” he extended his arm again. “Take it.” 

“I’m not taking your money,” with finality, she stepped away from the exchange. However, as soon as she was closer to Ian than to himself, Mickey hid the payment between two pages of her notebook. 

“Alright, come on,” he opened the front door and waved a hand, signaling Yev to stand up and leave the goddamn flowers, “let’s go, bud.” 

They all said their goodbyes and gave thankful handshakes, Ian even going as far as to hug the doctor. Yev almost went against the ice cream deal and informed the doctor that his dad’s name wasn’t Matty, to which Ian swiftly covered up with, “You’re right, you call him daddy, huh?” He picked the child up and headed back to the elevator, Mickey sticking behind for only a moment to say another thank you.

“What’d she say?” Ian set Yev back on the ground and pointed to the lobby button, inviting the child to push it, “Did she give you another one to try?” 

Mickey shook his head and stared at the changing red number, “Just told her I couldn’t go back to sleep, said she’d give me one when you leave in June.” 

“You’re leaving?” Yev clung onto Ian’s thigh and angled his head to innocently look up at his stepdad. 

“No,” Ian consoled, picking the kid up again to give him some kid of physical comfort rather than just spewing insignificant words that meant next to nothing to someone his age, “I’m gonna go to Chicago for a couple days, but I’m gonna come right back.” 

The elevator came to a halt, knocking Ian and Mickey off their balance. As they walked through the lobby and broke through the air-conditioned barrier into the blistering heat, Mickey lingered closer to Ian, close enough for them to bump shoulders every so often without even trying.

Inevitably, they separated when they reached the car; Ian buckled Yev into his seat, careful to not let the heated metal touch his fair skin, and Mickey got into the passenger side. “Let’s go the fuck home,” he yawned while Ian started the car, a blast of hot air hitting his face, slowly transitioning to cool, “need a nap.”

“We gotta go get ice cream,” Ian craned his head around to look behind him as he pulled out of the parking spot.

“Ice cream? For what?” 

“I told him we’d get some if he behaved,” he put the car into drive, “and he behaved, so… ice cream.” 

Mickey pressed the heels of his palms deep into his dry eyes, the lack of sleep still causing them to burn and eventually water from the sudden moisture, “We bribing him now?” 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Ian saw a glimpse of Mickey out of the corner of his eye with his hands over his face, mouth wide in mid-yawn, “You okay?” 

“Mhm,” Mickey mumbled, wiping the salty liquid away from his dark circles. 

Yev returned to kicking Ian’s seat and singing the wrong lyrics to songs on the radio, Mickey rested his head back and shut his eyes for the duration of the ride to the store, only opening them when he felt the car stop moving, the cold air no longer whirling through the vents. Ian somehow read Mickey’s mind and knew he wanted to stay in the car, so he rolled every single window down, giving them at least a warm breeze instead of being trapped in a metal sauna, “Yev, what flavor do you want?” 

He turned around and saw the kid fighting with his buckles, “I wanna go in.” 

“No,” Ian took his own seatbelt off and Mickey handed him some leftover cash from his pocket, “you gotta stay in here with dad. What kind? Chocolate?”

Frustrated, Yev gave one final blow to Ian’s seat with his sandal-clad foot, jolting the man forward into the steering wheel, “AYE.” Mickey turned around to look at his son with his brows brought together, forming a crease between them, and his mouth slightly agape in shock, “You apologize right now.” 

Ian had his hand on the door handle ready to step out and get this over with, sweat collecting on his forehead, but the ‘I’m sorry’ never came. Yev folded his arms over his strapped chest and kicked his leg out toward Mickey. Although his little limb was too short to reach him, the intention was still clear, “Alright,” Mickey settled back into his seat correctly and snatched the money from Ian’s right hand, “if you wanna act like that, you don’t get anything. Let’s go.” 

“Mickey,” Ian said pleadingly under his breath, barely loud enough for Mickey to hear over Yev’s tantrum, “relax. Let me just get it and we can go, come on.” He held a palm out to get the cash back, but Mickey just shook his head and clenched his jaw repetitively, closing his eyes to try and calm himself down while there was a crying baby in the back seat. 

“Let him cry,” Mickey closed both of his hands into fists, blunt nails creating crescent shaped indents in his skin. “Drive, Ian.” 

Ian let his eyes scan over Mickey’s face for a few beats, but eventually let him have this one and started the car to head home. 

Mickey left the car as soon as it was put into park, letting Ian deal with the kid and his phony, immature tears. He walked in and was met with Lana lying down on the couch, legs crossed at the ankles, bare feet propped up on a pillow with the T.V playing lowly as if just for some background noise. 

He was in their room with the door shut before Ian had even unbuckled Yev. He shed his clothes until he was in only his underwear and fell flat on their bed, spread eagle, letting the sweat that covered him head to toe begin to dry and his internal body temperature decline to a normal level. 

There were faint voices coming from the living room, a concerned Lana asking what happened, Ian saying it was a long story, Yev still struggling to chill the hell out. The door opened and he heard footsteps come in, a handle click following, but he didn’t move his eyes from the ceiling, “The fuck’s goin’ on with you?” 

Mickey remained still, his brain telling him to sit up and say something back, but his muscles weren't responding like they should. He might not have been able to move, but he managed to give at least some kind of answer, “I’m sleeping.” 

“Not to sound like a dick, but you and I both know that’s not true,” Ian playfully tapped one of Mickey’s feet, batting it back and forth between his hands. “Did she say somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me?” 

He noticed the crying had subsided out in the other room, and at that moment, more guilt set in. What the doctor had said kept replaying in his head, the accusation that he acted like Yev becoming more real with each passing second; both were throwing fits because the other didn’t behave like they wanted. “Do I annoy you?” he asked as his heavy lids gave out and came to a close.

“What?” Ian unbutton his shirt with nimble fingers, fanning the now open fabric against his heated skin to cool it off, “What do you mean?” 

“All this sleeping shit,” he placed his palm flat on his sternum. “It annoys you, doesn’t it?”

“Where is this coming from, what-”

“Just answer the question.”

“No,” Ian said, almost whining, like he couldn’t believe this was even a thought in Mickey’s mind, “you don’t _annoy_ me.” 

“I told her that Yev can't sleep on his own ‘cause he’s afraid I’m gonna leave again,” he began quickly, bending both legs so the soles of his feet were planted on the comforter, “and she said ‘doesn’t that sound familiar?’ and I was like, yeah, it does.” You could’ve told him his eyes were glued shut and he would’ve believed you, no matter how much he wanted to lift his lids, they wouldn’t budge, “She said that I’m the Yev in this relationship and I know how much he drives me fuckin’ nuts sometimes, so that’s gotta be how you feel about me.”

“Are you serious?” 

“Especially with the sleeping thing, ya know?” he couldn’t stop himself, “Like, I wanna just scream at him and tell him to go the fuck to sleep by himself ‘cause it’s not that goddamn difficult, but who the hell am I to even think about telling him that?” 

“Mickey-”

“And I know how I feel when he can’t sleep, so I can pretty much guess how you feel. Probably wanna smack me-”

“Mickey, stop,” Ian grabbed both of Mickey’s knees and shook them slightly, just enough to get his attention and force the downward spiral to come to a standstill. “You can't compare yourself to a four-year-old, are you kidding me?” 

His eyes finally unhinged right as he was pulled further down the bed by his calves. Ian locked the man’s legs together, rested his chin in the dip between his kneecaps, bare chest against bare shins, and folded his arms over his thighs, “I would do anything for you, you gotta know that,” he reassured.

“Doesn’t mean you can't get sick of me,” Mickey countered.

“Don’t you think you needing me to sleep is like, the best problem we could have?” Ian released his grip and stood up straight, buttoning his shirt back up slowly, “I’d hold you even if it didn’t help, it’s not an inconvenience like what’s goin’ on with Yev. Two different things.” 

Mickey didn’t add anything more to the conversation, just silently scooted himself back up the bed and got under the sheets. Ian had disappeared into the bathroom to take a piss and rinse the sweat off his face with some cold water, emerging only minutes later to harmlessly ask, “You want me to lay with you?” 

He saw Mickey shake his head and pull the covers up over his shoulders, eyes closed, “No.”

“‘Kay,” Ian opened the door back to the living room, but stopped himself before exiting. “You know you’re gonna have to apologize to him, though, right?” he asked gently, not wanting to upset Mickey more than he already was, “Get him to apologize to us, too.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mickey replied, words somewhat muffled by the pillow, “just give me a couple minutes.” 

Wordlessly, Ian left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am an actual piece of human garbage and i'm sorry it took me four months to update this


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm the worst, i know

A few weeks had passed and June had arrived, beginning the family’s first Mexican summer. They spent the majority of their free time in the ocean, also known as the cheapest way of cooling off in such an unbearably, ridiculously warm environment. Ian finally gained enough of Yev’s trust to help him learn how to float without his floaties, but the idea of being able to do something his big, strong dad couldn’t was an added bonus.

Half empty bottles of sunscreen were stashed around the house, giving them no excuse to go out in the sun with bare skin. It only took Yev getting burnt once, red to the point of blisters bubbling along his shoulders, for them to buy another bottle virtually every time one of them went to the store. Regardless of how many they already had in every room, a new one was brought into the collection.

Mickey and Ian would more often than not sneak out after Yev was tucked into bed for a nighttime swim. It was more just Mickey sitting close to the shore on the sea floor with the water jostling around his waist while Ian went out and immersed his whole body in the salty liquid. He would beg Mickey to come with him, promising he wouldn’t let him go, but it felt embarrassingly patronizing and made him rebel, absolutely refusing to let the water go above the middle of his thigh.

Lana had taken on the role of acting as Yev’s teacher. She used Mickey’s computer to find kid-friendly games online for him to learn how to spell entire words in both English and Spanish, and even she paid extra attention to the new foreign language to become more adept. Eventually, he learned how to write everyone’s names and numbers, no longer limited to just counting out loud.

They had developed a system and it was working; the nightly routine, however, was a different story. Yev was still creeping his way into his dads’ room, still whining when they would attempt to put him back in his own, still giving Mickey daily headaches from said whining. It felt hopeless, like he would never learn to sleep alone, and as the days went on and as his parents got more and more irritated, he wore them down, no longer turning him away. He’d climb up next to them and no one would do anything about it, tired of the fighting and crying, sick of the puffy eyes and apologies after arguing.

Work kept Mickey busy, kept his mind occupied and off of the nauseating fact that Ian would be leaving again soon. He didn’t want to think about it, talk about it, let himself feel anything about it. All he wanted was for it to go away, leave his brain and let him find some kind of peace with the life they had. It wasn’t new information that Ian was going to be leaving every three months whether he wanted to or not, but as the trip approached, days dwindling down until it was the night before, he found himself growing increasingly concerned about his man not coming back.

Mandy stayed in contact with her brother and booked a flight that lined up perfectly with when Ian was leaving. She’d fly in a couple days after he leaves and be there when he returns to spend some much needed time with her best friend. Yev was the thing she was most excited about, though. Her baby nephew no longer a baby, big enough to talk to her on the phone even though he had no clue who she was. She wasn’t able to put an updated face to the name or voice, the picture in her head still a six-month-old child, but that would shortly change.

Everything was falling into place, everything was going smoothly, no complications or possibilities of getting caught had caused them any trouble, but when Ian disappeared into their bedroom to pack after dinner, it sunk in that this was really happening. They were going to be one man short for the next week, their day-to-day system was about to be jacked up without the extra hands needed to help with nearly all the household chores, and Mickey would be awake for the next one hundred sixty-eight hours. Like the rest of his life, nothing good stayed that way for too long; as soon as he got comfortable, something had to come along and harsh his mellow.

There was a deep-rooted knot in the pit of his stomach as he saw clothes be folded and placed strategically into a suitcase, sectioning the items categorically to get the most out of the limited amount of space. The toothbrush stand had a new empty slot, the medicine cabinet seemed extremely vacant although only a bottle of cologne, deodorant, and his pills were taken from it. He knew he was being dramatic and that, yes, Ian would most likely return in seven days like he promised, but every time another piece of him was stowed away in that bag, it felt like soon there would be nothing left of him there; as if there wouldn’t be a reason for him to come back.

His eyes were fixated on the zipper moving around the case that sealed away the belongings of his only sense of security when he heard his name spoken twice, “Huh?”

Ian took a t-shirt that was worn, dirty, and would be classified as disgusting to anyone who wasn’t Mickey, and draped it over one of the pillows to take his spot for the next week, “I said I’m gonna bring back more of my stuff, if there’s enough room,” he dragged the suitcase to the ground and pulled up the handle, moving it to a corner to stay until morning, “like whatever clothes I didn’t bring last time and all my junk, but I dunno where I’m gonna put it.” Mickey mumbled something weakly as an agreeing response and ran his palms over his face, trying to knock himself out of the funk he was in, or was going to be in for the foreseeable future, “What’s goin’ on with you?”

“Nothing,” he rose to his feet and walked around the bed to the bathroom, passing Ian on his way, “you can bring whatever you want, we’ll make room.” The devil in his mind was repeatedly telling him that this was their last night together and that he should savor every last second because he wouldn’t be getting any more, but the angel reminded him that keeping up the façade was important, not letting Ian feel his anxiety was important, not making him worry was important. So, he continued on and started a bath for Yev like would on a typical Friday night, “You gotta tell him you’re not gonna be here in the morning so he doesn’t freak the fuck out.”

“He’s gonna freak out anyway,” Ian countered, leaning against the doorframe watching Mickey squirt soap under the faucet to create a bubble haven for the child, then toss all his toys and buckets in for him to play with. “I figured it’d be easier to just call him tomorrow,” the other man began shaking his head, insinuating that idea was equally as bad as it sounded, “instead of getting him all worked up tonight? What, why not?”

“You get to dip outta here without sayin’ anything, then we gotta clean up the mess?” Mickey rinsed his hands under the warm water to remove any bubbles that had clung to his skin, turned the knobs off, and dried them on a towel, “You know how he is and how he gets, just tell him now and give him a head’s up. A phone call isn’t gonna do shit for a kid who thinks his dad just abandoned him for no reason,” he pushed past Ian to grab Yev, but stopped before exiting, “hell, he might even think you left ‘cause he accidentally got sand on your plate at dinner, or ‘cause of the sleeping thing, or some stupid shit he’ll make up in his little, kid brain that’ll make him think it’s his fault. Just tell him.”

He left the room before Ian could fire back and had to physically carry an upset, overtired Yev away from the T.V, feeling a very real headache beginning to form from not only the whining, but from the heat, the fact that their air conditioner was acting up, and that in about an hour, he’d sleep for the last time until next Saturday. Yev’s tantrum came to a quick end once he saw the bath full of bubbles and buckets for him to splash around with, and Mickey’s throbbing skull thanked him for that. He sat on the floor next to the tub and watched his son get the last of his energy out, scolding him every so often when he’d get sprayed with soapy water from the kid mistaking this miniature pool for the Atlantic ocean.

Ian poked his head in and immediately caught Yev’s attention, forcing him to listen to a four-year-old explain how he was living in an underwater, utopian city, “Yeah, that’s cool, bud.” He could feel Mickey staring at him from the ground, so he made barely any eye contact and tried to step out as soon as he began speaking, “Mick, I’m gonna go get gas, I’ll be right back.”

“Get in here, Ian,” his frustration was seeping into his tone, making him sound like a bitter, middle-aged mom who had to take care of the kids all day while her husband was out golfing with his buddies. “Papá número dos needs to tell you somethin’, Yev,” he spoke with his vision aimed straight out the door, somewhat telepathically drawing Ian back inside to break the news, “so get in here.”

Sluggishly, Ian stepped through the frame and joined Mickey in sitting crisscross applesauce on the ground to be face to face with the child, hoping that being at his level would soften the blow, “Yev, you know how I take medicine every night, the stuff in the yellow bottles?” he nodded and dove a car under the water, zooming it across the floor of the tub, “Well, I’m almost out of the medicine, and I can get really sick if I don’t take it,” he tried infantilizing the reasoning down to something he could understand, “so I gotta go to Chicago for a couple days to get more, but I’m gonna be back on Saturday.”

They could see the wheels turning inside Yev’s head, like it made sense to him, but he was trying to figure out why he had to leave at the same time. He scooped some suds into the bucket and dumped it out over and over, keeping his hands occupied as he tried to piece it together, “Can I go with you?”

“Not this time, but maybe someday,” Ian extended an arm to comb his fingers through Yev’s hair, brushing it to one side and ignoring how it would all be messed up in a minute when Mickey washed it, “you gotta stay here with papá número uno and mamá, gotta keep ‘em safe for me.” He glanced at his man for validation and was met with a faint smile that wordlessly said thank you, “And aunt- what’s Spanish for aunt? Abuela’s grandma…” he thought out loud, searching the recesses of his mind for that combination of three letters, “Tía, that’s it. Tía Mandy’s gonna be here on Monday, you’re gonna have so much fun with her.”

The disappointment was written all over Yev’s face, leaving the two men’s chests hollow, like their hearts were sinking to their stomachs; neither ever wanted to make a child,  _their_  child, feel like he was being left out or forgotten, but he still needed to learn that he couldn’t get his way all the time. Mickey interjected before emotions could get out of hand, “He’s gonna be back in a week, you can call him whenever you want.” It was what he should’ve been saying to himself, yet he was rationalizing Ian’s departure to a kid who had inherited all of his clingy, overly loyal personality traits, “If papá número dos wants to wait a minute, you can go with him to the store, how about that?”

Negotiating was a foolproof way of turning frown turn upside down and making him feel special, but also made him want to get out of the bath  _now_. Mickey scrubbed the salty, sea air and sweat out of the Yev’s blonde locks, using his hand to shield his eyes when he poured a bucketful of water over his head to rinse the shampoo away. Ian brought in some pajamas that weren't really pajamas, just little sweats cut into shorts with a tank top; it was way too hot for anything more.

While the two boys were gone, Mickey packed some chopped fruit in plastic bowls for him to take on the road, and put it all in a grocery bag with multiple water bottles, a fork, and paper towels, developing more and more into that middle-aged housewife by the second. He got interrogated by Lana about Mandy’s stay and where she’d be sleeping, how Yev would adjust to someone new living in his house for a couple weeks, and how they were going to make the transition go as smoothly as possible. After being told to stop being dramatic and that he’d be fine once he got comfortable around her, they decided it would be easiest for Yev to just sleep with him, and to give Mandy his bed. These were details that he didn’t care about at the moment, his focus only on how Ian would be driving away in less than twelve hours, but answered as nicely as he could to give her some relief as it would be a change for her, too.

Ian came home in a car with a full gas tank, carrying multiple energy drinks to keep him alert during the drive, and a kid who talked him into buying a bag of Skittles. Yev entered the house and made a b-line for his dad, showing him what papá dos bought him, rattling the package, and begging for him to help open it. He took the candy out of Yev’s grip, but didn’t move forward in opening it, just talked quietly behind Ian’s back as he put the cans of caffeine in the fridge, “Why the fuck would you buy this? He’s about to go to bed.”

“Thought I was supposed to make him know he wasn’t in trouble or whatever,” Ian innocently replied, not wanting to close the door and be deprived of the cool air they’ve been ripped from recently. He had his eyes closed, cooling his fevered skin for only a minute before his face was almost smashed by the door suddenly shutting on him, “What the hell?”

With the child still hovering around their legs, waiting impatiently for his sugar high to take effect, Mickey grabbed Ian’s wrist and put the candy in his palm, “You get to play bad cop this time; you bought it, you tell him he can't have it ‘til tomorrow.” Yev overheard that, though, and defeated the entire purpose of putting the responsibility onto Ian. He started to walk away from the situation that was quickly morphing into a whining, crying outburst that was making his head begin to throb again, “You deal with it. Brush his teeth, too, I’m goin’ to bed.”

‘Going to bed’ really meant laying in his underwear on top of the sheets with the ceiling fan on while listening to Yev throw a fit over having to taste toothpaste instead of the treat that was unfairly dangled in front of him before being snatched away without any explanation.

Lana turned all the lights off, locked the doors, closed the blinds, did everything that Mickey had rubbed off on her over the past few months, and took over the parenting to relieve the men of the angry, exhausted child who still only respected his mom enough to stop fussing when she told him to. Having your baby wrapped around your finger is one thing, but your baby having you wrapped around theirs is a totally different ballgame.

Knowing that he’d try to make an escape, she stayed out on the couch and followed a Supernanny tip she had learned years ago that took hours to do at one point, but took only minutes now that Yev knew she wasn’t fucking around. She only had to put him back in bed around five times until he gave up and stayed where he was supposed to; that is, until he was sure everyone was asleep.

Just a wall away, Ian felt like he and Mickey were out of sync, which wasn’t uncommon for them during rough times, but not something he preferred to feel when they were about to be separated for a week. He climbed onto his side of the bed, arm-to-arm with Mickey, and stared up at the fan circulating the warm air around the room, “We talked about this,” he broke the silence, “we agreed that me going is the only option and that finding meds here is too risky, right?” There was no response, only a hum to signal that he was listening, “I don’t want you to be mad at me about this. I don’t wanna go just as much as you don’t want me to go, and if I could stay, I would, but we both know I can't.”

“I’m not mad at you,” it came out weakly, pathetically, and he let out a long sigh followed by a hard swallow, feeling remorseful for how he’d been acting over the past few days, “I’m mad at myself for bein’ such a fuckin’ loser.” He could barely finish his sentence before Ian was wedging his arm behind Mickey’s head to pull him onto his side and into his chest, their tacky skin sticking together at every contact point, “I’m sorry for bein’ a dick,” he felt Ian’s graze up and down his bicep in a soothing motion, “just not really lookin’ forward to bein’ awake for the next week, that’s not your fault, though.”

“We’re all gonna be fine,” Ian felt his internal temperature beginning to rise with this other body resting snuggly against him, but he put that aside and focused on comforting Mickey in any way he could, “you’re gonna go to the doctor and get some more pills, Mandy’ll be here to help, and I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”

They knew that last one was bullshit, and Mickey buried his cheek deeper into Ian’s collarbone, “I can't do this shit by myself, man,” even with two women to chip in around the house with the day-to-day operations, it still felt as though he was being left alone to fend for himself. “I mean… work, take care of the kid, cook, clean, do everything on no sleep?” Ian closed his eyes to soak in what he was saying, “It was one thing when I was here by myself, but fuck,” he huffed a laugh and copied Ian in shutting his lids, “I can't do it.”

“That’s why you’re gonna go get more pills, give ‘em another shot,” Ian reached over onto the nightstand and unplugged his phone, using one hand’s thumb to tap on the screen while the other stayed on Mickey, “and Lana can cook, Mandy’ll keep Yev occupied, they’ll both clean,” he set an alarm for a time he would never consider waking up at on any other day, “all you gotta do is work on two things: cars and sleeping.”

“I’m not getting more pills,” he could see the light of a phone through his lids, but kept them sealed, and continued when Ian asked why, “‘cause they don’t work and make me dizzy as hell. She can give ‘em to someone who needs ‘em, I’ll figure it out on my own.” Ian new better than to argue with him over that, deciding to just let him do what he wanted and help deal with the repercussions after he returned. The men were glued to each other, in a physical sense, their skin peeling apart when Mickey flopped onto his back with only his arm across Ian’s stomach to still have that sense of contact, “I gotta fix this fucking air conditioner. It’s like an engine, right? Can’t be that hard.” Ian clasped his hand over Mickey’s, told him to go to sleep, and let the humming of the fan lull them both to sleep.

Sometime between them dozing off and when Ian’s alarm began repeatedly blaring a godawful noise, Yev had joined them on top of the sheets. The cruel tone had a domino effect in waking them, Ian first as it was right by his head, his movement caused Mickey’s fight-or-flight instincts to kick in, which then made Yev whimper and stuff his face into his dad’s pillow; the pillow that was covered with his other dad’s shirt.

The mood was somber and silent, and not because the two adults were half-asleep. They didn’t say much after rising from the bed, just went their separate ways to get everything needed for the trip compiled to make transferring it all to the car easier; and to make sure he wouldn’t forget anything. He got dressed in the clothes he had left out of his bag while Mickey woke a disgruntled Lana up to say her goodbyes, both doing everything incredibly quietly so Yev wouldn’t witness anything.

Ian brought his suitcase and backpack onto the front porch, then joined the other parents at the kitchen table and sipped from the cup of iced coffee Mickey had prepared. The blinds being raised was sort of symbolic, like Mickey knew there was no chance of falling asleep again once he left, so they might as well be opened now. Ian could see it, Lana was too tired to read that far into anything, and Mickey just wanted it all to go away. The bags of food and drinks were in the center of the table, waiting to be taken on a journey across the border, “Cut you some pineapple, mango, watermelon… strawberries, some other shit, it’s all in there,” Mickey pushed everything in Ian’s direction.

“Thank you,” he took a peek and tied the handled in a loose knot, going back to drink the cool caffeine that was a nice contrast to the usual scorching liquid that made them hotter than any of them would like to be. It went down quick, and although it was unintentional, it was probably for the best; if he didn’t get going now, he never would, “Got both types of money, my passport, pills… what am I forgetting?”

Mickey yawned and shrugged his shoulders, “I dunno,” he said simply, the fear and anxiety creeping up on him faster as Ian stood to put the car keys and his wallet in the pocket of his shorts. Without anyone prompting him to, he got up and walked out the front door, leaving Lana to tell Ian that she’d hurt him if he didn’t come back; if he hurt either of the two ‘babies’, she’d find a way to get into America and bring him home herself.

It was the coolest time of day, even though it was still unreasonably warm, and the breeze from the ocean made for a nicer environment than the stuffy air being blown around by ceiling fans inside the house. He waited with the suitcase sitting stagnantly around his ankles until Ian came out alone, saying one final goodbye to Lana as he shut the door behind him, “Never thought I’d hear your bride threaten me like that again,” he opened the passenger side door and set the bags of food and drinks on the seat, “but at least it this time it was about making sure I come back, not wanting me gone.”

As he grabbed the case from the porch and locked it away in the trunk, Mickey crossed his bare arms and began distancing himself from not only Ian, but the situation as a whole. It felt like a nightmare, like he was sleeping and was begging to wake up, but nothing would work, “You goin’ all the way?” Ian stood in front of him on the ground, looking up at Mickey for probably the first time ever, “Not stayin’ the night anywhere?”

“It’s only like, twelve hours,” Ian checked behind him as a car drove past, kicking up some gravel and leaving a cloud of sandy dust it its path, “shouldn’t be that bad.” He extended his arm and pinched Mickey’s waist to pull him down the steps and down to his level, “Come here,” the other man cautiously complied and joined him, immediately leaning into Ian’s chest to be enveloped in lanky limbs with a hand placed securely on the nape of his neck, “we’ve been apart for way longer than this, you know that.” With Mickey’s body flush against his own, and felt like they were melting into one another, like when it came time for them to separate, they wouldn’t be able to, “Can you please try to sleep?”

“You think I don’t try?” Mickey tilted his chin up to catch Ian’s eyes with his own, looking straight into his pupils in disbelief that he would even suggest such a thing, “I try,” his brows were knitted together, forming a few vertical lines between the hairs, and his lips parted slightly, “don’t act like I don’t.”

“That came out wrong, I meant…” Ian forced Mickey’s head back onto his chest with a firm palm on the back of his scalp. He waited for his man to relax some before continuing on, “I know you try, but I also know you can be a little stubborn,” blunt nails scratched through the black, buzzed strands, pacifying him for the time being, “and if you’re lying there and it’s not working, you’ll just say fuck it and get up and make coffee or whatever instead of giving yourself some time to rest.” Mickey let his muscles loosen a bit, making Ian almost hold him to keep him standing upright, “I feel like just keeping your eyes shut for a couple hours would help; anything but ignoring what your body’s telling you.”

It was as if time was standing as still as they were, latched onto each other while the waves crashes in the background, muffled to the ears that only listened to their synced breathing. More vehicles passed by as civilians journeyed to work and the sun began to become more prominent, lighting the world up both in brightness and temperature. Mickey was the first to shift, yawning then moving around to relieve himself of a pebble poking into the sole of one of his bare feet. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but every time he gathered the courage to rip the Band-Aid off and go their separate ways, Ian would strengthen his grip and squeeze the might right out of him. He waited for the next right opportunity, and did it before anything could make him change his mind, “You gotta go, or else we’re gonna be here all day.”

Ian untwined his arms and cupped Mickey’s face in his palms, thumbs brushing over the apples of his cheeks, and wordlessly ducked down to connect their lips for a brief moment before pulling away and placing one longer, sentimental kiss in the center of his forehead. Mickey didn’t have to be told why this was being cut short, why they weren't making out until neither could breathe, and was fine with it; not making this goodbye like the one in the desert, making it different, gave both of them faith that it wouldn’t be the end. Ian began stepping back, hands slipping from Mickey’s cheeks and to his sides, “Call me when he wakes up,” he was met with a nod and headed to the driver side of the car, “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Be careful,” Ian twisted his neck back to the words filled with nerves and told him he would, told him not to worry, told him to start counting down the hours until he’d be home. Mickey watched him get into the seat, strap himself in, turn the ignition on, and drive away with a hand poking out the window waving as he descended into nothing but a tiny dot on a poorly paved road.

He gave himself a minute or two to decompress, allowing time for the stinging behind his eyes to dissolve, then went back inside his home, alone, and felt a hollowing in his chest that only happened when Ian wasn’t around. The darkness infected his body, spreading from his heart to his limbs, causing them to feel like noodles that were cemented into the floor. For a split second, he hoped maybe he’d hear tires in the driveway and Ian would come through the front door and this would all be postponed until another day, but the clock kept ticking and he kept blinking, and when he heard noises coming from his – their – room, he was finally able to pull himself together and go try to comfort his son.

Yev was fussing and whining, confused and concerned by the absence of his parents, but immediately quieted down when Mickey came back. He laid flat on his dad’s side of the bed, the whole area seeming much bigger without the second adult, and rubbed his eyes clear while Mickey got into Ian’s side; he went under the covers instead of lying on top of them, wanting to be fully enveloped in what was left of his presence. He flipped over and reached out to what was usually his own pillow, “Lift your head up,” he ordered, and Yev complied, letting his dad pull the shirt out from underneath his skull. Mickey wrapped his – Ian’s – pillow with the fabric and rested his cheek on it, now completely and utterly surrounded by his man.

The kid tossed and turned onto his left side to face his dad, looking at him dead in the eye, and asked a very simple question, “Where’s papá dós?” his voice was a little groggy and rough, showing signs that he was very clearly not ready to be awake. Tiny lids opened and closed slowly, just wanting an answer so he could shut them and drift back off into his dreams of Amy and Gemma coming to visit.

“What’d he tell you last night?” he tried his best to keep his composure, already feeling a burn in the depths of his throat from having to speak the truth; keeping silent made it easier to pretend it wasn’t happening. He waited for a response, but all he got was a shrug of tired shoulders and a hum, “He’s gotta go to Chicago for a couple days to get his medicine, he’ll be back soon.” That made Yev more alert than any four-year-old should be at such an early hour, eyes wide like Ian hadn’t said anything to him at all, like this was brand new information, “You can talk to him when you wake up, alright? Just go back to sleep, bud, it’s fine.”

Following Ian’s instructions, he locked his lids and let out a deep sigh, preparing to be like this until Yev woke up for good. He felt the mattress moving, but kept them closed until there was a body nestling into his own. Although the temperature was rising, having someone next to him felt nice. Even if it wasn’t the one that could knock him out at the drop of a hat, the warmth of his son kept him company and made it easier to let his eyes and brain rest. If anything, this was the one thing Mickey knew he could always provide for his son and his son could provide him: a sense of comfort and security, albeit a false, illogical sense.

Not-so-shockingly enough, he didn’t sleep. He stayed there, eyes glued together and filling his lungs with the scent of Ian’s shirt, but never saw darkness overtake the bright sun seeping through his lids. It was boring as all hell and he wanted nothing more than to get up and drink his unreasonable amount of coffee and take a shower and do all the things he typically did when there wasn’t a passed-out baby clinging to him, but he persevered and replayed Ian’s words in his mind each time he felt the urge to say, well, fuck it. He didn’t have to wait long, though, because Yev awoke soon enough and freed him of the restraints that were compassion and love for his child.

Lana made baked eggs, her one specialty, and the two boys kept themselves occupied with their individual forms of entertainment. They had every ceiling fan on full blast, one box fan in the kitchen and another in the living room, yet were still tacky with a thin sheen of sweat covering their skin. The heat was its own type of prison that Mickey couldn’t figure out how to break out of, and it pissed him off more than anything; he remembered craving warmth and sun, but this was ridiculous and not what he thought he signed up for.

Mickey had texted Ian telling him to pull over at a rest stop or something so he wouldn’t die while talking to Yev, and answered the phone once it began to ring. They exchanged their hellos and what’s ups, Ian mentioning that he was getting close to the border and was seeing an increase in Texas license plates. Mickey tried to pay attention and keep the small talk going, but he just didn’t have the energy or desire in him to fake it for any longer, “Yev, come here. Someone wants to talk to you.”

The kid did as he was told, leaving his movie to grab the phone with both miniature hands, careful not to drop it like the last time he did in the sand, and struck up a conversation with his second papá. Ian told him he missed him a thousand times over, and that he’d bring him back something special if he behaved for his other two parents. Yev promised he would, pinky swore through the phone, and handed it back to Mickey. “You wanna talk to him?” he asked Lana, whose hands were full with a casserole dish of eggs, and turned back around when she shook her head, “Alright, I guess I’ll call later or somethin’. I gotta get Eric over here to fix this fuckin’ air, I can't take it anymore.”

Ian wanted to remind him to watch his language, but figured this wasn’t the right to nitpick, “‘Kay, I gotta keep going, anyway.” He could feel Mickey’s tension though the speaker, the one word response of ‘yeah’ made hanging up even harder. Within this relationship, he had tried his hardest to never let them go to sleep mad at each other, and although he would’ve preferred to apply that rule to calls as well and talked this issue out, there was no time, “I love you. Talk to you later.”  Mickey copied those three words and hung up, leaving Ian once again.

Eric came over that night when the world began to cool down after receiving a call from an overly apologetic Mickey, repeatedly saying sorry for bugging him on his day off, for fucking up his house, for being so stupid that he couldn’t even fix something that seemed so simple. His tenant kept telling him he could take whatever it cost to fix it out of his paycheck or he’d work more shift to cover it, anything to make the situation right, but when Eric pulled up to his second home, he saw the problem immediately; and it was his own fault. He showed Mickey that it was just a tarp covering the unit that was restricting the airflow, a tarp that he put over some storage that wouldn’t fit in the shed. He said hello to Lana and Yev, made sure the rest of the house wasn’t falling to pieces just to tease Mickey, and left as quick as he came.

Yev snuck into bed with his wide-awake dad a few hours after he’d been tucked in, and dozed off as soon as his head hit the pillow. Mickey laid on his back to stare at the ceiling with blankets covering his lower half, his body finally feeling the effects of a properly working air conditioner, and tried to decide whether or not to go to the doctor again. He told Ian he wouldn’t, but the idea of sleeping, even if only for a few hours, seemed like it would be beneficial to everyone in the household. He had to think about two – soon to be three – other people and how his drowsiness would impact them, and living as a zombie didn’t appear to be the best option. He stayed like that until the sun came up, overthinking things and alternating between having his eyes open or shut, and by the time Yev was whining and begging him to go swimming after not sleeping for over twenty-four hours, his mind was made up.

Sunday was spent preparing for Mandy’s arrival, going grocery shopping to replenish the fridge with what he could remember were her favorite things, changing Yev’s sheets, going to the laundromat, and just generally cleaning the house up. The two adults used their child’s Energizer Bunny personality to their advantage and had him dust whatever surfaces he could reach, taught him how to fold his own laundry so it could put it away by himself, and made him organize the clusterfuck of bath toys that were always left strewn across the shower.

Three a.m. on Monday morning came way too fast for anyone’s liking, and Mickey was about to hit forty-eight hours of no sleep. As he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling for a second night in a row, he found himself yawning to the point of tears, drops of water being pinched out of the corners of his eyes and dripping onto his cheeks, red from the sun. They were coming from a place of exhaustion, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if at some point they switched over to an emotional place and began pouring heavily. Before that could happen, he got himself up and dragged his feet to his closet, then to the bathroom to get dressed and brush his teeth, grabbed his wallet and keys, then went back to what was his side of the bed to pick his snoozing baby up as gently as he could.

Yev fussed a bit, but calmed back down and wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck, latching his fingers together to keep his hands connected. Mickey went into Lana’s room and spoke in a hushed whisper, only loud enough for her to potentially hear, “Hey, I’m goin’ to pick her up,” she kicked her legs out and brought the covers up over her head, groaning in an attempt to make him go away, “takin’ him with me.” It really was pointless to inform her about this because Yev not being in his bed wasn’t out of the ordinary and he would be back before she typically woke up, but he felt the need to let her know just in case, “Don’t freak the fuck out if you get up and he’s not here, alright?”

Some presumably foul Russian words came out from under the sheet, grumbled and scratchy, and he took that as his cue to get the hell out before he got a pillow to the face. He carried Yev with one strained arm, using the other to lock the front door behind him and open the backseat of the car to carefully set the kid into his seat. Yev’s head drooped sideways and used the impact protector to rest while Mickey buckled him in and made sure the straps were safely snug over his chest. He got into the passenger seat and accidentally shut the door a little too harshly, causing the child to whine for only a moment before relaxing again when the humming of the car lulled him back to sleep.

The yawning didn’t subside nor did the tears, in fact they had become worse with the cold air pumping through a vent directly into his line of vision, drying them out without minutes. He drove through the darkness with no trouble and no one else on the road with one hand on the wheel, one propped on the window pane to hold his head up with a fist. Any logical person wouldn’t have driven on no sleep, especially at night, but it helped to be surrounded by black instead of the blinding light that blanketed the whole country at any other time of day. It went by smoothly, they arrived at the airport early as usual, and he let Yev stay in dreamland until he received a ‘just landed’ text from Mandy.

These seat-to-arms transfers were a lot riskier than he thought they would be, but another was successful, and he walked with two legs dangling next to his own, feet bumping into his thigh with each step taken. It all seemed way too familiar, like he was just here yesterday to greet Ian at the baggage claim; except now he was carrying a kid who was giving him the arm workout of the century.

There was barely anyone in the building at five a.m., only workers and the occasional civilian doing the same thing Mickey was: waiting around for their relative. He found a seat and sat down to give his muscles a break, using a palm to rub across Yev’s spine to make sure he wasn’t affected by the change in position. His head fell back onto the chair and he shut his eyes, the motion soothing him as well, and let himself feel the rise and fall of his son’s chest on his own until he felt a kick on his ankle, “Wake up.”

For a split second, ignoring the very obvious voice that rang clear, he thought it was a cop, causing him to lean forward with a protective grip on Yev’s neck to keep him steady. His lids flew open and his heartrate immediately dropped back to normal after seeing his sister for the first time in years, “Jesus Christ,” he said breathlessly, standing to welcome her like any brother would, “you fuckin’ scared me.” He adjusted Yev to hold him with one arm, and extended the other like he wanted to bring her in for a hug, but all he got was a violent punch on his bicep, “OW- what the fuck?”

Again, it was all too similar; this time, Lana.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” she meant for it to come out angry, but her tone softened mid-sentence as she became distracted by the child wiggling in Mickey’s arms like he was about to wake up, “Oh my God, he’s so big.” Her hand joined her brother’s on Yev’s back, leaning in closer to see his right cheek squished against Mickey’s shoulder, “He looks just like you as a kid, oh my God,” she tenderly ran her fingers through blonde locks, pushing the messy mop to the side, “look at this hair.”

“Look at yours,” he nervously checked around them for any suspicious stares being sent their way, but saw nothing but a few people with soft smiles who probably thought they were married and Mandy was saying hello to her son after being away for a while. She pulled back from Yev and tucked some freshly-dyed strands behind her ear, “Back to black, huh?”

“Got sick of bleaching it.” She fixed the strap of her purse and actually took her brother in for the first time, noticing the dark circles and constant yawning, “You look like shit.” The insult was followed by her going in for a real hug, embracing both bodies as best she could, then leading both boys to the now spinning luggage carousel with bags traveling down the conveyer belt, “Why’d you bring him?”

“A: I look like shit ‘cause it’s fuckin’ five a.m.,” he watched her use every ounce of strength she had to collect both her bags before they circled around again, “and B: ‘cause he would’ve freaked out if I left him there. Can’t sleep by himself, he’s glued to my hip.”

Mandy pushed her bottom lip out to show how sweet she thought that was, silently admiring how far he had come in terms of being a father. Never in a million years did she think she’d see him walking in public holding a child,  _his_ child, while they slept in his arms, but here he was. “You’re the one who told me to book a red-eye, this is your fault,” she lifted the handles and started rolling them behind her as she followed Mickey to the car.

He repeated the process of delicately transferring Yev to his car seat and helped her put the bags into the trunk. They spent most of the drive in silence, Mickey yawning and Mandy just gazing at her baby nephew in the back, wondering how time had gone by so fast. About halfway home, they pulled off onto an exit and into a McDonalds drive thru, “You want anything? I’m just gettin’ coffee.”

“Mmm,” her eyes tried to scan over the menu, but the English words were too small to see, “yeah, get me a Happy Meal.” Mickey gave her a confused look, brows furrowed, and asked her how old she was, “Twenty-two. And an apple juice, douchebag. Please and thank you.”

“You’re getting orange, I don’t know how to say apple,” he did, he had learned from Yev’s unconventional schooling, but he just wanted to fuck with her. The woman behind the screen informed him that she spoke English after he butchered his order and could only remember the ‘feliz’ part of ‘happy meal,’ which was a major relief for him; also for Mandy, she got goddamn her apple juice. She planned on saving the toy for later to give to Yev as a sort of peace offering to show that she could be the cool, fun, hip aunt.

Once they returned to the freeway and the cruise control was set, they settled back in with their respective breakfasts. The red box with a yellow smiley face got placed on the floor after it was empty, but Mandy kept the plastic wrapped toy in her hands to fiddle with as they continued on their journey home, “Can you tell me what happened again?” she asked, vaguely, and all Mickey responded with was a hum, “What happened after I left?”

He glanced over at her and her busy fingers picking at the plastic, “Didn’t I already tell you?” she said yes, but that she wanted to be refreshed, “I don’t wanna talk about that right now, not while he’s in here.” Another intense yawn came bubbling out of his mouth, and when he peeked at her again, he caught a glimpse of her mouthing ‘please’ over and over again, “You already know everything. He came home one day and threw me a wad of cash, said some guy from a movie gave it to him, I said what movie, he said the raw porno he did.” His eyes bounced from the road ahead of him to Yev in the rearview mirror, making sure he was still knocked out and wasn’t hearing any of this, “I told him he needed to go to the hospital, he freaked out, stole him,” he aimed a thumb toward the backseat, “left him in a locked car in the middle of fuckin’ summer, got detained, released, put in the hospital, I got fucked up for a couple days.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause he was so drugged up he was like a zombie, didn’t talk or anything. Then he didn’t wanna take his meds, I had to make sure he took ‘em, he got mad at me, we got in a fight, made up, his bitch of a cousin called the cops on him, he got arrested, Monica bailed him out, he came back, we broke up, I got arrested, and he left me in there to rot,” Mickey swallowed hard and nodded slowly, feeling a rush of negative nostalgia from that quick recap. He heard her whisper an expletive, and let out a shallow laugh, “That about sums it up.”

“That last part, though,” she pointed a finger toward him absentmindedly, and managed to cross her legs in such a confined space, “when you guys broke up. You said he broke up with you, right?”

“Yeah?” he twisted his head to try and briefly read where she was taking this or why she would’ve even thought it was the other way around, “Why?”

“No reason,” that was bullshit and they both knew it, but Mickey didn’t fight it.

The rest of the drive was as silent as the beginning, but now the quietness was uncomfortable, tense, and made them uneasy. Thinking about Ian lying about what happened made Mickey feel like his blood could boil if this exhaustion didn’t make it flow like molasses. If he could lie to Mandy, he could lie to anybody and make them believe he was the bad guy in that situation, which is exactly was Mandy was concerned about in that same moment. They never lied to each other, they made a pact after he came out to her that they would never, ever, lie to each other, and yet he did without a second thought. Ian was rising to the top of both of their shit lists, and he was lucky he was safe and sound in another country.

They pulled into the driveway and Mandy tried to lighten the mood by asking the same questions he got from Ian and Lana about how he could manage such a nice place, as if he was only capable of living in a shack made of straw and dirt. He gave the same basic answers and got her baggage out before unlatching Yev from his seat to carry him inside, lying him down next to Lana in her bed to maybe prolong the inevitable wake up.

“I gotta get dressed, make yourself at home,” he disappeared into his bedroom to change into his work clothes, feeling like there were weights hanging off all four of his limbs with every movement. He rinsed his face with cold water to make himself more alert and alive, but was only left dripping with wet marks on his coveralls. He came out zipping up the front of his uniform and saw Mandy chilling on the couch with her feet up, bags having been dropped in entryway, “He’s probably gonna throw a tantrum when he wakes up. Don’t be surprised if he’s shy around you at first. There’s food in here,” he opened the fridge and grabbed himself a bottle of water, “beer, vodka and tequila are in the freezer. I’ll be home later,” he stepped between her suitcases and had his hand almost on the knob when she stopped him.

“Where are you going?”

“Work.”

“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

He hesitated, “The fuck you mean what are you supposed to do?” she looked back at him blankly, genuinely needing an answer, “You sit in this nice, air-conditioned house, play with Yev, eat whatever you want, drink…” he listed off things that should’ve been obvious, but by the expression on her face, it wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear. “Look, I know you won't have a car or whatever, but the beach is right there,” he shot a finger toward the sliding glass door, “open it and you’re on it. Burn yourself to death, I don’t give a fuck.” The front door was swung open, as was his mouth during yet another yawn, and he said one final thing before stepping out to leave her to her own devices, “Just relax. You’re on vacation.”

There were a lot of things going through his mind as he drove to work. Ian lying about their past, Ian being on vacation in Chicago, Ian not texting him at all since yesterday morning. All of that on top of not sleeping for forty-eight hours and his slob of a sister being left alone in a house that isn’t his made him feel overwhelmed, but solidified the one thing he knew had to happen: seeing the fucking doctor.


End file.
